


your body told me it’s never been afraid of anything

by ceserabeau



Series: your body [1]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Abuse of italics, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Steve Harrington, Canonical Character Death, Come Eating, Coming In Pants, Confessions, Dirty Talk, Facials, First Time, First Time Bottoming, First Time Topping, Fix-It, Flirting, Grinding, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Idiots in Love, Intercrural Sex, Jealousy, M/M, Miscommunication, Nightmares, Porn With Plot, Possessive Sex, Post-Season/Series 03, Power Bottom Billy Hargrove, Praise Kink, Resurrection, Rimming, Sleepy Kisses, Spit As Lube, Spit Kink, Swearing, so much swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:01:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27353875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceserabeau/pseuds/ceserabeau
Summary: Maybe Steve’s hallucinating. Maybe he’s fallen down the cellar steps and cracked his head open because this can’t be happening. Billy is dead. Steve watched him die. But here he is, alive and in Steve’s cellar and making a joke like he didn’t get stabbed by a monster tentacle and isn’t pale and shaky and barely standing, face and hair smeared with mud.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Series: your body [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2141850
Comments: 50
Kudos: 612





	1. Chapter 1

So here's the thing. It's late, Steve's tired, he's been at work for the last twelve hours and he’s got to get up at seven tomorrow to do it all over again. Scoops Ahoy really was the cushiest job; now he's stuck working days at Family Video and nights doing deliveries for Tony's Pizzeria and dreaming about what it'd be like if his car didn't smell of pepperoni and desperation. He doesn't really need the money but he needs the distraction. Most of all he needs to have a shower and eat something that isn't dripping in grease and then sleep for the next year.

Anyway, point is, these are the reasons why he doesn't immediately go and investigate when he hears the cellar doors banging.

He stands in the kitchen, staring out the window into the yard. Can't see shit because the kitchen lights are too bright, only his reflection in his stupid red polo and stupid baseball hat with its stupid pizza logo. At least it's better than his sailor uniform. Just a little. But not a lot.

The cellar doors bang again. That shower is looking more and more like a distant dream. Fuck. He should probably go check it out. It could be a raccoon, or worse a demodog, or worse a _teenager_. That’s the last thing his Wednesday night needs: teenagers.

He unlocks the back door, listens to the clunk of the lock turning. Reaches for his bat on instinct, propped up by the door ready to go. It's been there for six weeks since the whole Mind Flayer thing. He's not being overly cautious; most people in Hawkins probably have a weapon by their bed right now after so many disappearances. Steve's is just a bit scarier and more broken in than theirs.

Outside the air is cool, wind whipping dry leaves across the grass, fall finally settling over Hawkins after the long, hot, horrible summer. It’s only a few steps from the back door to the cellar but everything outside the circle of light spilling from his windows is pitch black. Anything could be out there, raccoons or demodogs or teenagers. As much as he loves his bat, it doesn’t help with the panic sitting in his gut at the thought of all the things waiting for him in the dark.

He creeps closer to the cellar. One of the doors is open, battered by the wind. Raccoons can’t open cellar doors, he’s pretty sure, or demodogs. Teenagers though. Fuck, he can’t deal with the kids right now; he's loves them but he’s way too tired.

The cellar is dark and dank as he goes down the steps, smells enough like the tunnels that his skin crawls. The shadows are too thick and when he flips the lights on they flicker around him. Maybe it’s stupid to warn whatever’s hiding in the shadows that he’s here but he’d rather be able to see what’s coming at him, thank you very much. He has to give himself a fighting chance – if he screams for help no one will be able to hear him. It’s just him and his red polo and his bat against the cold, dark world.

A noise echoes from somewhere further in. Something moving, dirt shifting. Panic inches up his throat.

It’s a raccoon, it has to be, a little garbage eater that's somehow opened the cellar door and is gonna steal his mom's spring bulbs. If it's just a racoon he'll be thrilled and then also so mad he'll probably kill it for scaring the shit out of him. If it doesn’t jump out at him and scare him to death first; he can see the headline now: Teen Dies Of Raccoon-Induced Heart Attack.

He sends up a prayer. Please don’t let it be teenagers. Please, _please_ don’t let it be a monster. He hefts his bat, winds up for a swing.

“Come on out, you little fucker.”

The darkness shifts and Steve will never, ever admit to the noise he makes when the shadows merge into one.

It’s not a raccoon. It’s not a demodog or a fucking teenager. It's not a monster, but it is close.

Steve’s swing loses momentum halfway. He must be losing his mind because it looks like Billy Hargrove standing in front of him. Yep, he’s lost it, gone completely insane, and there's a weird flash of relief bubbling up inside him because it's long, long overdue. There's a long pause, the silence and cold and horror crowding in in both of them, and Steve has tasted fear before but this something else, something sharper and much worse. He can’t help the way his voice squeaks when he says, “Billy?”

“Yeah,” Billy replies, voice low and deep and dry, exactly the way Steve remembers it. “Don’t cream your pants.”

Steve blinks at him stupidly. Maybe he’s hallucinating. Maybe he’s fallen down the cellar steps and cracked his head open because this can’t be happening. Billy is dead. Steve _watched_ him _die_. But here he is, alive and in Steve’s cellar and making a fucking joke like he didn’t get stabbed by a monster tentacle and isn’t pale and shaky and barely standing, face and hair smeared with mud. _Grave dirt_ , Steve's mind helpfully supplies, because Billy's dug himself out of his _grave_. Steve knows he's gaping, mouth like a goddamn goldfish, but what the fuck. Seriously, what the _actual_ fuck.

“You're dead,” he says.

“No shit, Harrington,” Billy drawls. “I fucking know I’m –”

He cuts off so sharply the silence rings, face twisting, and Steve’s trying to figure out if Billy's about to burst into tears or try to hit him or maybe go full zombie - and then Billy turns around and pukes on the floor.

It looks a lot like grave dirt too. Steve tries to not look at it too closely.

“Shit,” he hears himself say, “Shit, Hargrove, _Billy_ ,” but when he steps closer Billy skitters back into the corner, hands up protectively like he’s trying to ward Steve off.

“Don't,” he grits out. “Stay the fuck back, Harrington.”

Steve stays. Doesn't look at the pile of Billy's black vomit. Takes the time to look Billy over instead. He looks like shit, face grey under all that mud, still in the suit they dressed him in for the funeral, the big gaping holes in his chest and sides hidden under starched cotton. But he still looks like the Billy Hargrove Steve knows and tolerates, not like the fucked-up Upside-Down Mind-Flayer-possessed version of himself. Although he didn't before, or so Steve has heard - he didn't exactly get a front row seat to the Mind Flayer rampaging around town in Billy's body what with whole thing with the Russians. The point is he doesn't know what Billy would look like possessed other than maybe sweaty and angry and violent. And that was pretty much his default in any situation anyway.

While Steve’s trying to figure out if the person in front of him is the one true Billy Hargrove or a demon from another dimension, Billy coughs up some more gritty black gunk. When there seems to be nothing left to come up, he slides down the wall like his legs can’t quite hold him up. It’s hard to tell in the dim light but it looks like he’s shaking, trembling all over.

“What the _fuck_ ,” he says, and his voice breaks over the words. “ _Fuck_.”

“Uh,” Steve says stupidly. “Are you okay?”

And that's a look he remembers, unimpressed and disbelieving and pissed off all in one. The Mind Flayer never made that face, Steve's pretty sure. That's a trademark Billy Hargrove glare if ever there was one.

“What do you think?” Billy spits out, then spits on the floor between them, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s only been gone a few weeks and Steve somehow already forgot how gross he is.

“Yeah, okay, stupid question.” Steve props his bat against the wall and sidles a little closer. “I’m gonna sit down, okay?”

He moves slowly, telegraphs every move, gives Billy time to shrink back or run away or whatever he’s gonna do. When Billy doesn’t he takes it as permission to slide down the wall next to him until he’s got his ass on the cold floor, a careful gap between them.

“How, uh. How are you here?”

Billy shrugs. “No idea. Just woke up.”

 _Just woke up_. Like it’s that simple. Just woke up after being mauled by a monster. Just woke up six feet under and dug himself out. Steve’s brain shies away from those thoughts sharply; he doesn’t need anything else to add to his nightmares.

Billy must be thinking about it too because his hands clench around his knees, white-knuckled, breath coming in little pants, and Steve’s had enough panic attacks in the last few years to know what one looks like. He's had plenty of practice with this stuff. This is one fire he actually knows how put out.

“Hey, Billy, easy, just breathe.”

He turns carefully towards him, raises a hand to curl around Billy’s neck, fingers tucked up under all those curls. Billy struggles a bit, says “ _Don't_ , fuck, don't _touch_ me,” wild around the eyes like he doesn’t trust Steve, but Steve's been around El and Will long enough to know what that look really means. That really Billy doesn't trust himself.

But Billy hasn’t tried to kill him yet, which is a one-hundred percent improvement on the last time Steve saw him, so he’s probably not gonna.

“No,” he says, and “Hey,” and “Billy, c’mon,” puts the tiniest bit of pressure into his touch and Billy just. Folds. Straight into the circle of Steve’s arms, forehead against his collarbone, and Steve can feel his breath through the thin fabric, warm and real and alive.

He opens his mouth to say something like _it’s okay_ and _you’re fine_ and _you’re not gonna hurt me._ Closes it with a snap. None of those things seem right with Billy trembling under his hands, making these noises like he’s breaking apart.

So Steve does the only thing he can think of to make it better and loops an arm around Billy’s shoulders, rubs at his back gently. Runs his other hand through Billy’s hair as gently as he can, tries not to look too closely at the mud and leaves and _worms_ he’s brushing out of his curls.

He wishes he knew what to say. What do you when someone comes back from the dead? Mostly he just wishes that someone else was here with him to witness this. Dustin or Robin, any of the brats – hell, he'll take Nancy right now, fucking Jonathan even. Literally anyone to look him in the eye and acknowledge that this is really happening, this is real. Billy Hargrove has crawled out of his grave and into Steve's cellar and he’s letting Steve touch him.

This is some real weird shit.

And _yet_. Steve's been doing this long enough now that he's not really fazed by it (and isn't that a worrying thought, one he's not gonna touch right now). If there are monsters from other dimensions and pre-teens with superpowers, what’s a guy coming back to life.

He holds tight until Billy’s shoulders stop heaving, until Billy pulls back a little, cold air rushing between them. Billy’s eyes are wary, so Steve fixes his gaze on the cellar steps, pretends he can’t see the tears on Billy’s cheeks or feel the wet patch on his shirt, can’t smell the damp earth in his hair.

He doesn’t know how much Billy remembers from before, if he remembers anything at all. But Steve put as many cuts and bruises on Billy’s body as the Mind Flayer. He might’ve been out of his mind on fear and Russian drugs but he’s pretty sure all that internal bleeding was as much from being hit with a car as it was from monster tentacles. Like, he only got away with almost killing Billy simply because something else got there first. So he needs this, needs Billy to trust him, to know he’s not a threat.

He thinks they both do.

Whatever Billy sees on his face makes him relax. Gives him a reason to tuck himself back into Steve’s side and turn his face into Steve’s shoulder. He’s either wiping his tears or his puke mouth on his polo, Steve can’t tell.

“What the fuck happened to me?” he mumbles into Steve’s collar.

Steve doesn’t really have any answers. Not good ones anyway. But maybe he can try to explain it a little. He probably owes Billy that much.

“There was a – a monster. And it, uh, possessed you. It tried to make you kill the kids. But you stopped it. You saved them. But it, um, it attacked you. It killed you.”

It sounds so inadequate when he says it out loud, but Billy doesn’t call it crazy the way Steve had way back in the Byers house, facing down the Demogorgon with a baseball bat for the first time. Just nods his head a little, curls brushing against Steve’s chin.

“Monsters are real,” Billy breathes.

“Yeah.” The tiny noise that punches out of Billy’s throat when Steve rubs a soothing hand down his back makes Steve’s heart clench so hard it hurts. “Sorry you had to find out this way.”

“The fuck you apologising for?” Billy croaks out. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Steve says and means it with every fibre of his video-renting, pizza-delivering being. “It wasn’t you.”

They sit like that for what could be minutes or hours or days. The cellar is cool and getting cooler, the night creeping down the steps to wrap around them. The door is still banging in the wind and Steve’s ass is going numb but he doesn’t care, not with Billy’s body pressed against his, warm like a Hawkins summer under his hands.

Billy doesn’t move for a long time, so long Steve thinks he’s fallen asleep. And then, “Did you t-bone me?”

It cuts through the warmth in Steve’s chest, makes his blood run a little colder. Suddenly Steve’s back in his car, everything hazy and painful as he stepped on the gas, and it was the Mind Flayer in the car, the Mind Flayer trying to hit Nancy and Jonathan and the kids, but it was Billy too, his blue eyes staring right at Steve. So Billy does remember. Fuck.

“Yeah, I – I may have totalled your car.”

Billy sighs, mumbles “You fucker,” but he doesn’t sound too mad. Bigger things to worry about, Steve figures.

“Sorry,” he says and means it, because Billy loved that car, probably more than anything else in the world, and Steve destroyed it. “It was kinda the only option.”

Billy shivers and shifts closer. “Thanks,” he says, hoarse. “For – for stopping me.”

And suddenly Steve’s eyes are stinging and he feels like he’s gonna fucking – _cry_ or something. He just came down here to maybe get scared to death by a raccoon and now he’s practically cuddling with his one-time archenemy and he’s on the verge of tears. What even is this night?

“Don’t mention it.” He feels Billy’s mouth move like he’s gonna protest. “No, like, _really_ don’t mention it. I don’t want to talk about it.”

Billy hums thoughtfully, like he’s considering if he wants to talk about it. It vibrates through Steve, warms him back up a little.

“So we don’t talk about it,” he says. He’s being _considerate_ and Steve tamps down on his laughter at the thought: Billy Hargrove being _considerate_ , being a _nice guy_. “What do you want to talk about?”

Steve flips through all the things he could ask. About what Billy remembers from that night at the mall and all the nights before. About what El showed him in those final moments. About Max, about California. He takes a deep breath.

“When you died. Did you, uh, go to the other side?”

The silence rings like a gunshot – and then Billy makes a noise like he's gagging and Steve's not above admitting that he panics, just a little, wouldn't it be just his luck for Billy to come back from the dead only to choke on his own puke and die again, but when he looks Billy's actually laughing or trying to anyway, a demented grin on his face.

“You’re a fucking moron, Harrington.”

“I just thought –” Fuck, he _is_ a moron. What is he even talking about? He’s genuinely amazed anybody spends time with him if this is what they have to put up with. “You know what, never mind, fuck you.”

Billy growls a little at that, one hand fisting in Steve’s shirt like he’s holding him steady so he can headbutt him or something, and Steve suddenly remembers why saying _fuck you_ to Billy Hargrove is a terrible, horrible, no good, _very_ bad idea. He’s never wondered what it would be like to get punched by a zombie, but he’s probably about to find out.

But it turns out Billy’s just wants to cling to him as he chuckles like a maniac. Like this is normal. Like he doesn’t care. Like the whole thing isn’t a fucking mess.

“You’re so dumb,” he says around a grin. “The _other side_. Holy shit.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, shithead.” Steve means it to come out prickly and harsh, but the hand still running up and down Billy’s back betrays him. “Don’t know what you thought you were gonna get coming to me.”

Billy scoffs. “Nah, just started walking,” he says, all casual, but his shoulders tense under Steve’s hands, tell-tale. “Just happened to find your house.”

“Sure you did,” Steve says, in a tone that sounds weirdly like his mom when she catches him coming home at two in the morning, drunk off his ass and trying to lie about it.

Because maybe Billy’s telling the truth. Maybe he’s really been stumbling around Hawkins for hours looking for somewhere to hunker down and Steve’s house was the first place he came across – maybe, but probably not because the cemetery is nowhere near here. Which means Billy came looking for him. Billy came to him.

Billy fucking came to him.

It’s like Billy can read his mind (maybe he can, can zombies do that? Steve doesn’t watch enough horror movies to know) because he nudges Steve a little, elbow sharp in his ribs. Says, “Don’t get any ideas, Harrington. I wasn’t looking for you.”

There are so many things sitting on the tip of Steve’s tongue, a joke, a barb, something sharp to dig in at Billy like the old days, but he doesn’t want to break the fragile thing that’s growing with every pass of his hand over Billy’s back. There might be a lot between them, all of it stained with Steve's blood and monster goo and now grave dirt, but. Billy came to him. It plays on repeat in his head.

It's real weird shit, but Steve’s kinda an expert these days.

He’s opening his mouth to find something to say something else when Billy sits up a little, eyes flicking over Steve. This close his eyes are so, so blue.

“Why do you smell like pizza?” he asks. “The fuck are you _wearing_?”

“Fuck off,” Steve mumbles, heart pounding all of a sudden, heat creeping up the back of his neck. “It’s my uniform.”

Billy snorts. Drops his head back down onto Steve’s shoulder and tucks his nose into the collar of his polo. Breathes in a way that seems like maybe Billy’s – sniffing him? And Steve doesn’t know what to do with that, or the feel of Billy hair tickling his neck, or when Billy says, voice pitched low, “I liked those cute little sailor shorts better.”

Steve’s mind grinds to a halt. Is Billy Hargrove flirting with him? Is this really happening? Did Steve fall down the cellar steps and crack his head open? Look, he’s not above admitting he maybe had a small crisis at the sight of Billy’ abs and golden skin and stupid smirk every damn day he went to the pool, but so did half of Hawkins. It was basically a rite of passage to spend a summer’s day staring at him across the glassy blue water. Steve's never pretended to be any better than every bored housewife in a ten-mile radius. And now he’s got Billy in his arms, talking to him all hot and husky, like something he’s only ever imagined, the start of his most secret wet dreams. No wonder his brain isn’t working.

 _Get it together dingus_ , Robin’s voice says in his head. He’s trying, really he is. He just needs to process for a minute, okay? It's not like this sort of thing happens to him every day. He just needs to process and then he'll be able to come up with a response and then –

“Earth to Harrington?”

Steve blinks stupidly at the top of Billy’s head. “You – I – what?” It takes so much effort to get his brain back on track. He’s not a horny teen anymore but it’s hard to not think with his dick when Billy says shit like that. “When did you ever see me in that get-up?”

Billy huffs a laugh, warm air over Steve’s neck. “You think that night was the only time I went to the mall? You got all the girls hot and bothered, pretty boy. Had to see what all the fuss was about. Boy, were they right to get flustered.”

Steve just about stops breathing. His cellar steps must be a gateway to the Upside Down because how the fuck else can he explain Billy Hargrove flirting with him like Steve’s captain of the cheer squad at a Saturday night house party and Billy’s trying to get his dick wet.

“Flustered,” he says carefully. He’ll deny it to his dying day that it comes out high-pitched and breathy.

Billy’s smile feels sharp against his skin. “Don’t pretend you didn’t notice. I saw you flirting with all those girls.”

Steve thinks of Robin’s whiteboard in the back of Scoops: _you suck_ , line after line after line. Does this count as not sucking if Billy’s the one doing all the work?

 _Sucking_ – Jesus fucking Christ, he should not be thinking about Billy and sucking in the same sentence. Steve thunks his head back against the cellar wall with a groan.

Billy just laughs at him, the asshole. “Easy, Harrington,” he says, voice smooth like toffee. “Don’t freak out on me now.”

Steve opens his mouth to say something, maybe _I’m not_ or _stop it_ or _I don’t know what you’re talking about_ , but it’s so late and he’s so tired and what comes out is, “It’ll take more than you flirting to freak me out.”

Billy tenses against him. Calling him out probably isn’t one of Steve’s best decisions, but he’s only got about three working brain cells on the best of days and today wasn’t one of those even before Billy came back from the dead. He’s survived not one, not two but three encounters with interdimensional monsters and it’s his stupid mouth that’s gonna be his downfall. Billy’s gonna kill him and Steve will one-hundred percent deserve it this time.

He steels himself for what’s coming next, plants his fucking feet, waits for the sucker punch, blood metallic on his tongue, Billy’s anger like electricity in the air – except it never happens. Billy relaxes, tilts his head up until he’s practically nuzzling Steve’s throat.

“That’s good to know,” he says, lips against Steve’s skin. “That’s _real_ good to know.”

Okay, so maybe Steve is a little freaked out. Because Billy – Billy isn’t denying it. Isn’t flipping his shit. Maybe it’s all a ploy, he’s being lulled into a false sense of security and this is the part where Billy goes full zombie and rips Steve’s jugular out with his teeth, but somehow Steve doesn’t think so.

“Yeah?”

Slowly, slowly, Billy pulls back. He’s got a kinda crazy look in his eyes and Steve’s not totally sure what’s about to happen. The last time he saw that look up close Billy tried to rearrange his face with his fists. But Billy hasn’t hit him yet, is just looking at him, a little curious, a little intrigued.

“Yeah,” he says, so low, so quiet Steve feels it in his bones. His grin, when it breaks, is a little lopsided. “Don’t know why I’m surprised. You’re taking me going Romero on you pretty well.”

It’s a lie; Steve is _definitely_ not taking it well. There’s something buzzing in his chest, winding tighter and tighter. Whether it’s panic or something else entirely, he has no idea. The laugh that bubbles up is more a little hysterical.

“Yeah, well, you’re not even the weirdest thing that’s happened to me this week.”

“I’ll bet.” Billy leans a little closer, eyes half-lidded, enticing. Steve’s seen that look more than once, but it’s never been directed at him before. It feels a little like looking at the sun. “Maybe you should tell me about it.”

“You sure you’ve got time?”

“For you, pretty boy?” Billy licks his lips like a dog licking its chops, like he’s _hungry_. “All the time in the world.”

Steve takes a deep, deep breath. Fists a hand in the back of Billy’s shirt like that’ll somehow stop him swaying forwards, drowning in Billy’s ocean eyes. Has to close his own eyes to all that blue and maybe that makes him a coward, but some things are easier to look at in the dark. He can hear Billy’s breathing practically in his ear, in-out, in-out, feel the way his ribs push into Steve’s clenched fingers with each inhale.

“ _Billy_.”

He means to sound firm, like he’s putting his foot down or something, but his voice shakes around the edges. What the fuck is happening to him? He used to be good at this, used to be smooth, knew how to handle a bit of flirting and bedroom eyes. With girls, sure, but it’s basically the same thing right? There’s no reason he should be this flustered over Billy fucking Hargrove.

“Yeah, Harrington?”

“Think you should call me _Steve_.”

And just like that the moment snaps around them, whatever’s crackling in the air blinking out between one breath and the next. Steve forces his eyes open, forces himself to look, see what damage he’s done.

But Billy doesn’t look hurt or offended or whatever. If anything he looks nervous. _Shy_. For some reason he can’t meet Steve’s eyes and that might be the weirdest part of this whole night because he’s pretty sure Billy Hargrove has never backed down from anything in his entire life. There’s a flush on his cheeks that wasn’t there before.

“Okay,” Billy says, eyes fixed on where his hand’s still wrinkling Steve’s shirt like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen – maybe it is, Steve doesn’t know what Billy’s had to entertain him while he was dead. “Okay, _Steve_.”

Well, _shit_. What’s Steve meant to do with the knowledge of how his name sounds in Billy’s mouth? It’s gonna haunt him for the rest of his days.

He doesn’t have the right words, any words, and even if he did it’s too late. The moment’s gone. Billy’s already curling into him again like he doesn’t want to have to look at Steve. Like that’s that, conversation over. Like he hasn’t knocked Steve for six.

“Stop thinking so loudly,” Billy says into the soft skin under his jaw. “You’re giving me a migraine.”

Steve huffs. He palms Billy’s neck, digs his fingers in a little to hear him sigh. Jesus, the guy’s tense. Digging yourself out from six feet under probably does that to you.

“You know I have to call Max,” he says instead of all the other things on the tip of his tongue.

“ _No_.” Billy burrows a little closer. “Not yet.”

Steve knows he shouldn’t agree to that – if anyone should know it’s Max, but he’s fairly confident Billy crawling out of the ground will have set off El’s radar even from a few hundred miles away so it’s probably only a matter of time until she shows up screaming at his front door – but he kinda likes this version of Billy he’s got. Doesn’t want to ruin it just yet.

“Not yet,” he promises. “But do you wanna come inside? It’s warmer.”

Billy hums a little, sounding vaguely interested, but he doesn’t lift his head. It seems a little like he’s trying to become one with Steve’s neck.

“How about a shower?” Steve tries. “No offense, man, but you kinda stink.”

Billy hums again, doesn’t move.

“Or I’ve got some weed with your name on it. Maybe not that good Cali shit you’re used to but it’ll take the edge off.”

Of course that gets Billy’s attention. He pushes his face into Steve’s skin, breathes hot over his jaw.

“You’ve been holding out on me, Stevie. Didn’t know you were such a tease.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Steve says. He’s surprised at how even his voice is.

“Oh yeah?” When Billy looks up he’s grinning, all teeth. There’s still some dirt in his gums, black and glistening. The hunger’s back in his eyes and Steve would be worried that he’s gonna get bitten but he thinks if he does he’ll probably enjoy it and ask for more. “Why don’t you tell me about it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This did not end up where I planned? Title from Richard Siken because I'm a basic bitch.


	2. Chapter 2

It takes ten minutes to get a shaky Billy out of the cellar and inside. Another ten to get him upstairs and into the bathroom. Less than thirty seconds for Billy to shove Steve out of the bathroom with a hand on his chest and an angry, “Don’t need a babysitter to shower, Harrington, now fuck off.”

Like Steve should have expected anything else.

He’s debating creeping back in to flush the toilet so that Billy gets doused with burning water when the walkie on his desk crackles to life. Two blasts of static then Dustin's voice echoing over the line. 

“Steve. Wake up. Code red, dude, code fucking _red_. Over.”

Steve thinks about ignoring it. Thinks about the consequences. If the brats know about Billy, how likely is it that they'll sneak out and go looking for him? Or come harass Steve so that he drives them around looking for Billy? He's not good at math but it’s gotta be easily eighty percent. 

“Steve. _Steven_.” Dustin's voice is getting shriller and shriller. “Wake the fuck up. Code red. _Code red_. Over.”

“ _What_ , Henderson?”

He gets fifteen seconds of blessed silence before the walkie crackles in his hand again. 

“You have to say over when you’re done. Over.”

These fucking kids. Why does he put up with them? 

“I’m _over_ you, Dustin. It’s nearly midnight, what do you want?”

“Will radioed,” Dustin says. He sounds more than a little panicked, which is fair enough. Steve is too. “El had a dream about - about Billy. She said he’s alive. Over.”

Steve revises his estimate. One hundred percent, no question. They’re probably already on their bikes on their way over. There’s literally no way he can get out of this now. It’s tell the truth or be swarmed by little shits.

“Yeah, I know.”

The silence from the walkie is ominous. So much worse than the dead silence of the cellar when Billy stepped into the light. It’s the silence of bad decisions, of ruin-your-life consequences.

“What do you mean you _know_?”

It would be so easy to ignore him. Steve stinks like pizza grease and burnt cheese, he’s got dirt under his nails from where he’s been touching Billy, and he still hasn’t had a shower. He definitely isn’t gonna get much sleep tonight. Will probably have to call in sick tomorrow to deal with all this total madness and Dustin is just. Too fucking much right now. Why can’t these things ever be easy?

“Steven,” Dustin snaps, “ _Answer me_.”

“Oh, were you done? You didn't say _over_."

He can practically hear Dustin's eye roll from across town. 

_“Steve_.” Dustin's voice is verging on whiny now. Steve’s gonna have to talk to him about what a bad habit that is to have at fourteen. "What do you _mean_? How do you know? Did Will radio you already?" 

“No.”

There's really no way for him to explain everything that's happened without encouraging Dustin and the rest of them to come round and crash his house. That's the last thing he wants right now. It's the last thing Billy needs. 

“Look,” Steve snaps, “All you need to know right now is that Billy's alive. Tell the other shitheads that and then all of you go to sleep. I'm handling it.”

“But –”

Steve smashes the button to cut Dustin off with a squeal of static. "No _buts_." Jesus, when did he become his mom? “I'm _handling it_ , Dustin. Just trust me, okay?”

Dustin hums like he’s not totally sure he does, which - _rude_. Like Steve hasn’t saved his life _several_ times in the last few years. “How do you know he’s not flayed?”

“He’s not. He’s just Billy.”

“Billy’s an _asshole._ That’s just as bad as being flayed.”

“Don’t be a dick, Dustin. He literally _died_ to save us.”

“I’m not being a dick if it’s true.” Dustin heaves the most put-upon sigh like Steve’s the one giving him an ulcer. “You’re at your house, right? We’re coming over.”

“ _No_.” Absolutely fucking not. The brats swarming him right now would actually be the final straw. “You are _not_ coming over.”

Dustin huffs. “What about Max? She was going crazy. She's the one that wanted me to call you. So we could find him. She's super upset, dude.”

“I said _no_ , Dustin.” Maybe it’s a little harsh, keeping Max from her own brother but Billy’s only been resurrected for a few hours, is barely functioning, seems to be swinging pretty wildly from emotion to emotion and Steve would rather direct the blast from whatever inevitable explosion is coming towards himself rather than at any of the kids. “She'll have to wait, okay? He isn't ready to see her yet.”

“But _Steve_ –”

It’s bad how easy he caves when Dustin says his name like that. Christ, he's such a sucker. It’s hard to believe once upon a time he ran the entire school. Now a bunch of fourteen-year-olds have him eating out of their hands.

“Tell Max she can come by in the morning before school. Just her though.”

“Can't we –”

“ _No_. Just her.” Dustin is silent, _suspiciously_ silent, in a way that Steve just knows means he’s getting dressed in the dark to cycle over. “I mean it. If any of you shitheads show up I'm gonna dump you in the pool and you’ll get to spend all day at school in wet clothes. Understand?”

He'll do it too. He was an asshole for the first three years of high school; he's not above reverting back to being King Steve if it'll get him his way. 

Dustin makes an unhappy noise but in the end grumbles out a " _Fine,_ I'll tell them, but Max is gonna be pissed."

"I can handle Max." Or Steve thinks he can; of all the kids she scares him the most. Not that he'd ever tell her that. "Tell her Billy's okay. I've got him. We'll see her in the morning." 

Speaking of – Steve tilts his head towards the bathroom. The shower's still running. He should probably go check that Billy hasn't drowned or fallen over and brained himself on the edge of the tub or something. That'd be just his luck. 

"Dustin, I've got to go. I'm turning the radio off now." 

He waits for Dustin to protest, but what he gets instead is, “Be safe, Steve.”

It’s like a shot of happiness straight into his veins. For all that they’re little shits, they’re good kids. He doesn’t know what he did to get stuck with them but he’s glad he did.

“Yeah, I will. Over and out.”

Steve takes some deep breaths to chase away the panic that Dustin’s set off like fireworks under his skin. Tells himself to get a fucking grip. When he goes to the bathroom door his legs only shake a little. He knocks, calls out a “Billy?”

No answer. The silence from the other side is terrifying. Steve sends up a prayer to any god that’s listening that nothing’s wrong and opens the door.

Billy’s sitting in the tub, head tilted back against the wall, water pounding down on his head, soaking his curls, dripping off his brow and the line of his nose. He looks better now that all the dirt's been washed away. Healthy. Alive. Somehow still tan after weeks in the ground, all that golden summer skin that Steve's been dreaming about on display. If it wasn’t for the scar tissue on his chest and sides like mandalas, huge and red and painful looking, it’d be easy to think nothing’d ever happened to him.

Something’s definitely wrong though, because Billy’s got his eyes fixed on the ugly rubber duck with a top hat sitting on the edge of the tub and isn’t saying shit about it. His eyes are blank, completely vacant, one hand clenched around the edge of the tub. The other hand’s on the big scar on his chest, fingers tripping over the raised skin like he's reading braille, like it's telling him a story of all the things the Mind Flayer did with his body. It’s not a story Steve wants him to have to read.

“Hey, you okay?”

Billy jerks, fingers digging into the scar like he's trying to rip into it. He scrambles upright, trying to cover himself and stand at the same time, but doesn’t get much further than a crouch before his heels slip and he goes down with a thud.

“Woah, Billy, just –”

Steve reaches for him but Billy shrinks back, whites of his eyes flashing. He’s shaking so hard his elbows knock against the tub, little hollow sounds to match the rhythm of Steve’s heart.

“ _Don't_.” He’s got that look again like he’s scared – of Steve, of himself, it’s hard to tell. “Harrington, just –”

Steve steps closer, hands held up, moving real slow so he doesn’t spook Billy again. “Easy, man. Just gonna turn this off.”

Billy just blinks at him, throat working like he’s trying to say something and it’s got trapped in his throat. When Steve leans over to shut off the shower, he has to stop himself flinching backwards at how cold the water is. No wonder Billy’s shaking; it’s like tiny icicles stabbing his skin.

“What the fuck? You trying to catch pneumonia?”

Steve moves back far enough to grab a towel. Wraps it around Billy’s shoulders, tucks Billy’s head under his chin and rubs his back like his mom used to when he was a kid. It’s a little uncomfortable, hunched over the tub, Billy’s curls dripping water down his collar, but it feels right. It feels good.

Eventually Billy stops shivering, leans into Steve a bit more, lets him take some of his weight. His breath is warm against Steve’s throat when he says, “Can’t get pneumonia from a shower, dipshit.”

Steve chokes out a laugh. “Whatever. C’mon, time to get up. Take my hand.”

Billy makes a noise like he’s gonna argue but he does. Small miracles and all that. Steve forces himself look away while Billy stands and climbs out of the tub, wraps the towel round his waist. Billy doesn’t look like he could pack a punch right now but no matter what people say about him, Steve’s not actually stupid enough to risk getting caught checking him out.

Or he wouldn’t under normal circumstances – but when he looks back Billy’s just standing there on the mat, water dripping everything, hands trembling where he’s holding the towel closed. His eyes are still a little distant, a little lost.

Steve grabs another towel off the rail and starts to dry him off. Billy flinches under his touch, expression hard, snaps “Don’t need your help,” but while Steve’s not be book smart, he is good at reading people. There’s something swimming under the surface of Billy’s skin: it looks a little like want, a little like fear.

“Doesn’t make you any less of a man to accept it,” Steve says quietly.

“Not a man,” Billy says, water drip-drip-dripping around his feet. “Didn’t you hear? I’m a zombie.”

Steve rolls his eyes so hard he’s surprised they don’t fall out his head. Of course Billy’s making fucking jokes.

“Well, as far as I know zombies don’t talk so shut up and let me.”

Surprisingly, Billy does. Lets Steve wipe the worst of the water from his shoulders and his chest and his back, careful around the thick scars that make bile rise in Steve’s throat. Even stays still while Steve scrubs a towel over his hair until the curls bounce, a little frizzy. When he pulls the towel away Billy’s frowning at him like an angry toddler.

It's kinda cute. _Billy’s_ kinda cute. How has Steve gone through life not knowing how fucking cute he is?

He nudges Billy back towards his bedroom before he does something stupid like kiss him on his stupid frowny mouth.

“I’m gonna shower real quick. Just, um – don’t go anywhere, okay?”

Billy goes. Steve leaves the door open a little like it’ll do something for the panic banking under his skin. Showers as fast as he possibly can. Too fast to really enjoy washing away the dirt and pizza grease. Because what if when he’s goes back into the bedroom Billy’s gone? What if when he goes back Billy’s flayed? What if this isn’t real, what if he’s dreaming? What if, what if, what if.

But when he opens the bathroom door, Billy’s curled up on the bed in a pair of ratty sweatpants he’s dug out of Steve’s drawers. No shirt, scars stark against his skin. His eyes are closed, lashes gentle against his cheek. Steve watches him carefully. He doesn’t look like a monster or like he’s gonna sacrifice Steve to one, but from experience a quiet Billy is usually the most dangerous. His silence is the pause before a batter swings, the stillness in the forest before a gunshot. This doesn’t look like a trick – he’s ninety percent sure Billy is genuinely asleep – but he’s not a fucking amateur. He still remembers Billy’s rings cracking his cheekbone. He still remembers Billy’s hands wrapped around El’s throat.

He throws on some sweatpants and a t-shirt before he creeps closer. Stands there watching the rise and fall of Billy’s chest for a long minute just to remind himself that this is real. That Billy’s alive. Alive-alive, not a flayed flesh-bag, not an extra from _The_ _Evil Dead_. Got a pulse and everything. As far as Steve knows anyway.

He’s well aware he’s hovering, but it’s hard not to. He’s got no fucking idea what to do. What _is_ he meant to do in a situation like this? What would his mom do? Make chicken soup probably, but Steve’s a shitty cook. He can probably manage a sandwich. Hopefully Billy won’t care. Hopefully he won’t go full Romero and try to take a bite out of Steve instead.

“Hey, man.” Steve reaches down to nudge him. Only a little bit, just in case Billy’s just pretending to sleep. “You need anything? Some food maybe, or –”

Billy’s eyelids flutter. His lashes are so stupidly long, they get Steve right in the gut. When Billy opens his eyes, he’s blinded by all that blue.

“Seem to remember you promised me some weed.”

Steve forces himself to swallow past the lump in his throat. Thinking about it, weed probably wasn’t the best thing to offer the newly resurrected. He should probably try to be the adult in this situation and not get Billy high a few hours after clawing his way out of the grave.

“Maybe you shouldn’t smoke. We don’t know what happened or how you came back or how it’ll affect you or –”

Billy gives him a dry look, totally unimpressed, one hundred and ten percent pure Billy Hargrove, total fucking asshole. “If you don’t roll me a joint, Harrington, I’m gonna beat you until you do.”

Steve makes a show of rolling his eyes. Billy’s not particularly threatening when he looks all sleepy and soft, hair still damp from the shower.

“Yeah, yeah, okay, I’ll get you your weed. So demanding, Jesus.”

He rolls them a joint. Uses the good weed he gets from Jonathan that he normally saves for special occasions. If returning from the dead isn’t special, he doesn’t know what is. It’s only when he clambers onto the bed to light it that he realises how normal is all feels. Like him and Billy are friends. Like they do this all the time.

Maybe that’s what dying does to you, makes you friends with your worst enemies.

Thinking about Billy dying – about black blood spilling from his mouth, about Max screaming his name – is a quick way to kill the vibe before it even starts. Steve shoves all those thoughts down as far as he can. Moves the pillows around on the bed so he can get comfortable against the wall and light the joint, sticky-sweet smoke filling his mouth like the best kinda candy. Billy’s eyes catch on his lips as he inhales. The weight of his gaze buzzes through Steve – or maybe that’s just the weed, like cotton wool filling his brain, his mouth, all the places he’s a little cracked. It wears down the sharp edges of his boundaries enough that it seems like a real good idea to reach out for Billy, get his hands on all that skin.

“Come here,” he says, voice low, thick with smoke.

Billy hesitates, eyes still heavy on the joint hanging from his lips before they flick away to stare at something across the room. There’s no way the pile of dirty laundry in the corner is that interesting. He’s shutting down, Steve can see it happening right in front of his eyes; he’s pulling back, building the wall between them back up brick by painful brick. Like whatever happened in the cellar is gonna stay there with the lawnmower and the rakes and the bulbs. And no way, no fucking _way_ , is Steve gonna let that happen.

“I said come here, Hargrove.”

He holds on tight to Billy’s shoulder and pulls. Keeps pulling until Billy moves into him, until he’s leaning back against Steve, back pressed to his chest, cradled between his legs. It should be weird – Billy should be sneering at him or punching him or _something_ – but when Steve drapes one arm over his shoulder to hand him the joint Billy just. Relaxes. Like he’s been waiting for the chance.

He’s never seen Billy like this. Ever since Steve’s known him, Billy’s had an air of absolute violence. Carries his anger in the pockets of his jacket, wears his hatred on a chain around his neck. This Billy is softer, calmer – like he’s left all of that buried in the cemetery. Resurrection’s a weirdly good look on him.

Steve skims his fingers over the raw edges of the scar on Billy’s chest, let his other hand rest against the one on Billy’s side. It’s probably real stupid, he’s just begging to get hit, but he’s watching Billy’s face like a creep and Billy doesn’t look like he’s uncomfortable. In fact, he kinda looks like – he likes it? Like he’s enjoying being petted like he’s a big cat, eyes fluttering closed, going limp under the press of his fingertips.

“Does it hurt?” Steve asks, barely more than a whisper.

Billy shrugs, blows smoke towards the ceiling. “Aches a bit. But not bad.”

He settles in a tiny bit closer when Steve flattens his hand against the scar, ridges pressing into his palms. Makes a sound like he’s happy, maybe. Steve just wants to keep him like that, but Dustin’s words keep spinning round his head: _how do you know he’s not flayed_ and Steve needs to know if this, this weird upside-down version of Billy is real or just an act.

“Do you feel okay? I mean, do you feel flayed?” Billy tilts his head towards him in confusion. “You know, can you feel it in you? The Mind Flayer.”

Billy snorts. “Who the fuck came up with that name? It was one of your little dweebs, wasn’t it?” He shakes his head like he’s exasperated but Steve can see the faint flicker of a smile at the corner of his lips. “No, I can’t feel it.”

“You sure?”

“I think I’d know, okay?” Billy takes a deep, shuddering breath. “It was in my head for fucking – _weeks_. I remember all of that. I remember _all of it_.”

He tenses, twisting a little out of Steve’s grip like he’s gonna run away, but Steve just holds him tighter. Pulls him closer, shushes him gently, and Billy relaxes again. 

It still doesn’t feel right to say _it’s okay_ because it’s not – Billy’s been dead and buried for weeks, and Steve’s still not one hundred percent sure he’s not dreaming – but he hopes Billy knows he’s trying to say it in the press of his face into Billy’s damp hair, the soothing touch of his hands over Billy’s skin.

He feels good leaning back against Steve’s chest. Warm, like his skin’s still holding the summer heat. Steve likes how all the places they’re pressed together feel: the bumps of Billy’s spine against his sternum, the soft underside of Billy’s arms against his knees. His eyes keep falling back to how Billy’s cheeks hollow when he inhales. Jesus, he’s fucked.

When Billy offers him the joint, he doesn’t want to let go even though he should. He just leans forward instead, waits patiently until Billy gets it, presses it to his mouth. Tries not to shudder at the feel of rough fingertips against his lips. Billy’s watching him as he inhales, eyes burning like a brand, but Steve can’t look at him. Not yet. Not with whatever’s filling up his veins, molasses-thick, making his head spin. Could be the weed. Could be Billy.

“Hey,” Billy says when the silence has stretched on for a while, “Do you know what happened to my necklace?”

“Max has it,” Steve says. Doesn’t mention that Max took it off his dead body, the medallion still smeared with Billy’s blood. That she wears it every day, never takes it off not even to go swimming. Billy’s gonna have to fight her to get it back. Steve’s not sure he’ll win.

“Thank god.” Billy blows smoke rings that float up towards the ceiling. Show-off. “Thought I’d left it in the –”

He cuts off hard enough that Steve thinks he might puke again – and wouldn’t that just be the icing on the cake of this bizarre night – but he can hear the words in Billy’s silence. _In the coffin_. In the fucking coffin Billy clawed his way out of. He ducks his forehead against Billy’s shoulder, breathes in the scent of his own body wash. Wishes it wasn’t so strong so he could smell Billy under it.

“It’s safe.” He rubs a soothing circle over Billy’s chest where the necklace once sat. “Max knows that you’re, uh, alive. She’ll be here in the morning.”

Billy huffs, put-upon, says “Fuckin’ great,” all pissed off like there isn’t a smile curling the corners of his mouth. “What time?”

“Before school, I guess. Maybe seven?”

“Seven,” Billy parrots. He takes a long drag on the joint like he’s trying to suck the life out of it, eyes hooded as he looks towards Steve. “How are we gonna pass the time until then?”

“Sleeping?”

Steve doesn’t mean for it to be a question. He’d _love_ to sleep, has been dreaming about it since he woke up this morning, but Billy’s got that look again. Like he wants to eat Steve alive.

“Be more creative, Harrington. I know you’ve got it in you.”

Steve steals the joint from Billy’s hand, takes one last hot-sweet hit, and reaches over to stub in out in the ashtray by his bed. He’s not an idiot; it’s pretty obvious where this is gonna go and he’d like to not set fire to his sheets when it does. After, though – he might have to.

“It’s _Steve_. Thought I told you already.”

Billy’s head drops back against his shoulder. His long, long neck all stretched out, all that skin on show. Steve wants to press his mouth to it, wants to taste, see if Billy has a flavour. It’s like Billy’s reading his mind again because he rolls his head to look at him, eyes boring right into his soul.

“Well, come on then, _Steve_.”

And damn if his name in Billy’s mouth doesn’t sound like every bad idea Steve’s ever had rolled into one.

He doesn’t know what he’s gonna do until he does it, sliding his other hand across Billy’s belly to that vulnerable space between the scars, snail trail scratching against his palm. His fingers bump against the waistband of Billy’s sweatpants; it would be so easily to slide under, touch all that skin. He presses down against muscle to feel the hitch in Billy’s breath.

“You gonna touch me, pretty boy?”

Billy’s got that glint in his eye again, a little manic, a little dangerous, a little like he’s deciding between slamming their mouths together and punching Steve in the face.

“You gonna hit me if I do?”

Billy grins, all teeth, a shark smelling blood in the water. And Steve, fuck, he kinda likes that smile. Wants to know what those pearly whites feel like biting down.

“Only if you ask nicely.”

Billy’s tone is as sharp as his teeth, laced with a promise. It hits Steve low in the gut, gets him hard against the hollow of Billy’s back. He clears his throat awkwardly. Fuck. What the hell is he doing? What the hell are _they_ doing? He’s tense, buzzing with the fear that if he moves wrong Billy’ll call it quits even though they’re probably so far past that point Steve can’t even really remember what it should look like.

But Billy just grinds back a little, laughs breathlessly. “That all for me, baby?”

“ _Billy_ –”

Billy doesn’t give him a chance to say whatever dumb thing’s about to fall out of his mouth. “You ever done this before?” he asks as he pushes back again and again and again until Steve’s hitching his hips into Billy’s skin. It’s so hot – he’s so stupidly turned on he can’t help himself. “You ever touched another guy’s dick?”

“Uh. No?” God, Steve sounds nervous to his own ears. Like he’s some blushing _virgin_. “Have you?”

“What do you think?”

“I think,” Steve grits out, trying not to just hump Billy like some horny teenager getting his dick wet for the first time, “You should answer the fucking question.”

“Yeah, I have.” Billy squirms a bit closer, shoving his face under the curve of Steve’s jaw, teeth scraping over his skin. “You sound scared. Are you scared? You gonna pussy out on me, _Steve_?”

He _is_ a little scared, still isn’t totally sure if Billy’s gonna touch his dick or punch him in it, but it sounds like a challenge. Steve’s a lot of things, a lot of not so great things, but he’s not a coward. He doesn’t back down from a challenge. He shoves his hand under fabric until he can wrap it around Billy’s dick, hard and hot beneath his fingers.

“Still think I’m scared?”

Billy laughs, low and throaty and a little choked. “Nah, baby.” He spreads his legs, arches his hips up. Fucks into Steve’s fist. Fuck, it’s so hot, _he’s_ so hot, the slide of his dick through Steve’s fingers absolutely fucking filthy. “I think you’re a natural. Keep going like that you’re gonna make me come.”

Fuck, Steve wants that. Wants to _see_ that. It’s not something he ever thought he’d want but the idea of it – he’s fucking short-circuiting.

He pushes at the sweatpants with his spare hand, grits out a “Jesus, fuck, get these off,” helps shove them down when Billy lifts his hips.

He’s completely naked underneath, of fucking course. Steve’s heart skips a beat, maybe a few. It’s nothing he hasn’t seen before. He shared a locker room with Billy, for Christ’s sake. Went to the pool at least twice a week to check out Billy’s abs. And yet, Steve’s pretty sure this is how he’s gonna die. Forget the fucking racoon – here lies Steve Harrington, dead at nineteen and a half because his heart gave out at the sight of Billy Hargrove naked and hard in his bed.

“See something you like?”

“ _God_ , Billy.”

Billy laughs, low and throaty. It goes straight to Steve’s dick. “Gonna take that as a yes.”

More like _fuck yes_. The slick sounds of Billy’s dick in his hand, Billy’s breath panting hot in his ear – it’s almost too much. He’s gonna come way too soon.

There’s something desperate squirming under his skin, a burning need to get Billy off first. Steve has no fucking clue what he’s doing but it can’t be that different to jerking himself off. He just does what he likes: grips tight at the base, twists his wrist around the head. And god, he _likes_ it, the feel of it in his hand, the wounded animal noise Billy makes in the back of his throat as he squeezes. When he thumbs over Billy’s slit where he’s dripping wet, Billy groans like a porn star, hand knotting in Steve’s hair.

“Fuck, Steve, like that.” He tugs so hard Steve hisses. “Knew you’d be good at this. Been dreaming about this for months.”

Steve feels like he’s having an out-of-fucking body experience. It was never like this with Nancy, with _any_ of the girls he’s hooked up with. He’s practically _vibrating_ with the need to get off, to get Billy off. He grinds against Billy’s back, choking a little. If only he’d been smart enough to pick a better position so he could get his own clothes off, get them skin to skin.

“You and your goddamn _hands_ ,” Billy’s saying, breathless, a little choked. “Since I first saw you – shit, baby, just like that – wanted them on me. Bet they’d feel so good inside me.”

Jesus motherfucking _Christ_. Billy’s gonna kill him and Steve’s gonna say thank you when he does.

“ _Fuck_ , Billy.” He tightens his grip, nearly has a heart attack at the way Billy fucks up into his hand, grinds back onto his dick. “You’re killing me.”

“You’re killing _me_ , pretty boy.” Billy’s Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows; Steve’s never wanted to bite something more. “Next time – oh, _fuck_ – next time I wanna get my mouth on you, wanna see that big dick up close –”

Steve bites so down on Billy’s shoulder it’s a miracle he doesn’t draw blood. He’s not gonna last thirty seconds if Billy keeps running his mouth.

He doesn’t have to worry about it though because Billy’s suddenly groaning out a “Fuck, _Steve_ , fuck,” head thrown back, yanking at Steve’s hair as he comes hard, dick pulsing hot in Steve’s hand.

Billy slumps like his strings have been cut, but he’s still pushing into Steve’s grip, riding out the aftershocks, come wet on Steve’s fingers. He’s so fucking beautiful, Steve almost comes right then and there.

“Billy, I can’t – fuck – I’m gonna –”

Billy tugs hard on Steve’s hair, pushing back against him until Steve’s gasping, groaning, hands clenching around Billy’s sides, around his dick. “Yeah, baby, that’s it, come on, come for me.”

He’s so close, riding the very edge, can feel it in his spine, icy-hot, burning through him. And then Billy – Billy turns his head to slot their mouths together.

Steve feels it like a punch to the stomach, like a pistol whip. He thought Billy would kiss like he punches: brutal, unyielding. But this is gentle, this is _easy_ , Billy licking into his mouth, tongue soft. Now he knows what Billy tastes like: like Steve’s toothpaste, like Steve’s good weed. Like he’s _Steve’s_. It makes his head _spin_ – and then it’s over, he’s coming so fucking hard, hot and damp in his sweatpants.

It takes a long time to come down from the high. His fingers and toes are tingling. Jesus, he’s never come so hard in his life. When he can finally stops hearing his own heartbeat pounding in his ears, Billy’s silent and still against his chest. Steve nuzzles his curls.

“You good?”

Billy’s silent for a long moment. Steve doesn’t rush him; he likes this, the feeling of Billy’s body heat seeping through his shirt and Billy’s hand tangled in his hair.

“Yeah, ’m good.”

He doesn’t sound good. He sounds cold and blank and _wrong_. And just like that the panic’s back. for a completely new and horrifying reason. Did Steve do something wrong? Did Billy not enjoy it? He doesn’t know how this is meant to go with a guy, if he’s being too clingy, too much, too _bullshit_.

Slowly Steve lets go of Billy, wipes his sticky hand off his thigh. They’re a mess; he’ll have to do laundry in the morning, maybe tonight if Max is gonna be snooping around his house. Billy shoots off the bed the moment Steve stops touching him, slams the bathroom door so hard the windows shake.

What the _fuck_?

Steve digs out a new pair of sweatpants for each of them, wipes himself down. Tries not to count the seconds that Billy’s holed up in there. Finally, _finally_ Billy comes out, but he won’t meet Steve’s eyes as he changes. When he climbs back into the bed, he rolls away immediately to face the wall. The tension’s so thick Steve’s choking on it.

“Billy?”

“Fuck off.”

Steve curls towards him, tentatively presses a hand to the dip of Billy’s waist, fingers sliding over a scar. Billy tenses.

“Harrington,” he says in a tone Steve’s only heard once before, right before he got his face smashed in. “ _Stop_.”

“Nope.” Steve’s not sure when he got so brave but now seems like a good time to be. He presses up against Billy’s back, hand sliding up-up-up until it’s resting over the steady beat of Billy’s heart. “I’m not going anywhere. So calm the fuck down.”

Turns out they’re the magic words because Billy actually calms down enough that Steve can slide right up against him, wrap him up tight. Even lets him snuffle through a faceful of damp hair to press a kiss to the back of his neck.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

Billy takes a deep breath, holds it for so long Steve panics that he’s gonna stop breathing. When he exhales, it shudders out of him.

“Hopper should lock me up.”

It’s the last thing Steve expected but it feels like a knife between his ribs. “Billy, no one’s locking you up –”

“I _killed_ people, Steve. A lot of people.” Billy’s shaking in the circle of Steve’s arms, breath hitching like he’s gonna cry. “Fuck, I killed Heather and her parents and old Doris and that kid and –”

Steve sits up, uses his grip on Billy to roll him onto his back. Billy only fights him for a moment until Steve pins him with a palm on his chest. But he won’t look at Steve, his face wet with tears.

“Hey, stop, _stop_. You didn’t do any of that.”

“I _did_ ,” Billy hiccups. “I remember all of it.”

Steve’s not good at this, will happily take a dozen demodogs and the Mind Flayer over all this emotional shit. But with Billy maybe he can be. He wraps a hand around Billy’s chin and forces him to meet his eyes.

“Do you trust me?”

There’s no hesitation in Billy’s voice when he says, “Yes.”

“Then trust me on this. You didn’t do that. It was the Mind Flayer.”

“That doesn’t make it _better_. They still died.”

“I know.” Steve turns his hand gentle, wipes away the tears trickling into Billy’s hairline. God, it breaks his heart a little. “But you gotta know nobody blames you for it.”

“You _should_.” Billy scrubs at his eyes like he’s trying to claw them out. “Fuck. _Fuck_. I can’t see Max like this.”

“You can. I’ll be here with you the whole time.”

When Billy lowers his hands, his eyes are as big as saucers. As blue as the sky. “Promise?”

His voice is so tentative that Steve wants to kiss him. Does kiss him. Softly, gently. Billy makes a shocked noise into his mouth. When Steve pulls away, Billy chases after him until Steve presses their foreheads together.

“I promise,” Steve tells him. “You got me, man. I’m not going anywhere.”

He doesn’t know what’ll happen tomorrow or where they go from here, but he’s gonna figure it out. He has to. He doesn’t want this to be over. He wants to keep kissing Billy. Wants to keep touching him. Wants to crack himself open to fit Billy inside.

He thinks Billy might even let him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out there was more.


	3. Chapter 3

The doorbell rings at seven on the dot. Steve’s running on three hours of sleep and too many cups of coffee, drunk sitting in his desk chair while he watched Billy sleep. The grey light creeping round the curtains makes him look sallow. Half-dead. Looking at him hurts, feels like his chest is full of bees. Or that could be the caffeine – it’s hard to tell.

It would be so easy to just stay here in this room, in the shadows and the silence. Nothing can touch Billy here. The moment Steve steps outside, this calm, this quiet will shatter into a million pieces. He’s not ready for that.

The doorbell goes again, then five loud knocks. Steve forces himself downstairs before he can overthink it.

Max is on the doorstep, sun pitched low behind her, glinting through a frizzy ginger halo. She’s alone, thank god. He owes Dustin big time for keeping the others away.

“He’s alive,” she says, voice breaking over the words

“Yeah. He’s – he’s okay. I think.” Steve ushers her through into the hall, takes her coat and scarf as she unwraps herself. “You want breakfast?”

Max nods, shakes her head. She looks like she’s gonna puke. Steve totally gets that, will probably forgive her for it even though it’ll be hell to get out of his mom’s rug.

“Is he –” Her breath whooshes out of her in a rush. In it Steve can hear all the questions she can’t bring herself to ask. “ _Where_ is he?”

“Upstairs. Asleep.”

Except Billy’s not asleep. He’s at the bottom of the stairs, shirtless, scars on full display, sweatpants _obscenely_ low on his hips. His hair’s wild, his eyes still crusted with sleep. Steve wants to kiss him absolutely everywhere.

“Hey shithead,” Billy says.

Max stares at him. It feels like a minute, an hour, maybe a millennium before she blinks again. “Holy shit,” she breathes.

Billy grins at her, a little crooked, a little cracked. “Language, Maxine.”

Max crashes into him so hard they both go down onto the rug. From the sniffling noises, they’re both crying. Steve didn’t know either of them even knew how to cry.

He gives them some space, goes to make more coffee – not that he needs it, he’s gonna vibrate out of his skin any minute – and call in sick. Keith complains, even threatens to fire him, but Steve doesn’t really give a shit. Billy Hargrove is back from the dead and in his house _and_ apparently wants to make out with him. Wild horses couldn’t drag him away. Probably not even wild demodogs.

By the time Billy and Max manage to get off the floor and into the kitchen, Steve’s made a pile of toast drowning in butter and a fresh pot of coffee. Max hops up onto a stool at the breakfast bar; Billy shoves his way into Steve’s space like he belongs there as he’s pouring out coffee for them both. He’s so close Steve can feel the heat of his skin like a brand.

“You don’t look like you died,” Max says, eyes flicking over Billy’s chest, catching on the scars. “Except for the – you know.” She tilts her head, eyes fixed on Billy’s shoulder. “Wait, is that a hickey?”

Steve’s face burns. Jesus Christ, of course this is how the morning’s gonna go. Where the hell has Max even _seen_ a hickey? Is he gonna have to have a talk with Lucas? Unless it was on one of Billy’s many girlfriends; Steve’s heard all about the good screaming, so maybe it’s not that much of a stretch.

“ _Nope_ ,” he snaps before Billy can say anything.

“Are you sure?” Max gives him a suspicious look. “It looks like a hickey.”

If Steve’s face could get any hotter it’d be on fire. He’d like to _die_ now. Where’s a demodog when you need one?

“It’s not.” He kicks at Billy’s skins, says pointedly “Maybe you should go put a shirt on.”

Billy ignores him. Bats his eyelashes and makes grabby hands at the coffee. Steve glares but he knows it’s weak. Jesus, he’s such a sucker; it’s truly ridiculous how easy he is when Billy looks at him like that.

Max luckily, blessedly drops it. Takes most of the toast for herself while Billy carefully cuts one slice in half and nibbles at a corner. Steve tries not to think how it must have been since Billy had a meal. Weeks and weeks. At least since the day he walked into Starcourt for the last time. How long before that? Did the Mind Flayer let him eat? The thought hurts like a bruise.

“How did you come back?” Max asks, spraying crumbs across the counter like the heathen she is.

Billy shrugs. “No idea.”

“And you’re not –”

“Flayed?” Billy sips his coffee, makes a face. Dumps two spoonfuls of sugar into it. “No, it’s gone.”

Max shoots him a dubious look. Steve can’t really blame her; from what he’s heard flayed Billy wasn’t all that different from regular Billy. A little mean, a little manipulative. How would any of them be able to tell if the Mind Flayer was hiding out somewhere deep inside?

“It’s _gone_. I’d know if it wasn’t.” Billy’s face sours suddenly. He fixes Max with a dark look. “Did you tell Neil?”

Max jolts like Billy’s shocked her with a cattle prod. Steve knows about _Neil_ – it wasn’t exactly hard to guess where Billy’s bruises were coming from, not after he saw the look on Max’s face whenever Neil picked her up – but no one ever talked about it. The way no one ever talks about Steve’s empty house or Robin’s aborted trip to conversion camp or Lonnie fucking Byers. There are a lot of different flavours of shitty parents and Hawkins seems to breed them all.

“No,” Max says. “I wouldn’t, Billy, I swear.”

Billy nods. Slurps his coffee. “So I’m legally dead,” he says, all casual, even though his shoulders are still up by his ears. Steve’s fingers itch to rub his back until he stops looking like he’s gonna break something. “What the fuck do I do now?”

“You need to stay out of sight,” Steve tells him. “You can’t go running around town – people will freak out.”

“ _Obviously_.” Billy casts a glance at the refrigerator, the photo of Steve’s parents in Italy kissing by the Trevi Fountain pinned there. “I can’t stay here forever. Your parents will come back eventually.”

Steve snorts. That’s about as likely as the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy helping Santa deliver his Christmas presents.

“I talked to Joyce last night,” Max says hesitantly. “Will’s mom,” she adds when Billy frowns at her. “She said you should go to Hopper’s cabin. It’s been empty since –” She swallows hard and Steve does too, choking on the memories of _since_. “It’s safe. Out in the woods. No one will find you there.”

Billy cocks his head, face thoughtful. “Won’t the chief mind?”

“He’s dead,” Steve tells him. “He died at Starcourt.” Billy’s expression shutters so hard it hurts to watch; Steve steps closer so he can press their thighs together, hopes it feels reassuring. “It wasn’t – you didn’t – he was too close to the gate when Joyce closed it.”

“The _what_?”

“The gate to the Upside Down.” Billy stares at him; the look on his face says he thinks Steve’s insane. And yeah, saying it out loud – it does sound like some insane Dungeons & Dumbasses bullshit. “It’s what the kids call the place the Mind Flayer came from. Sorry, I forgot you don’t know about all that.”

“No shit.” Billy rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling a little. “Who’s fault is that?”

“It’s mine.” Both their heads snap towards Max. She’s ripping a slice of toast to pieces, fingers glistening with butter. “I could’ve told you and I didn’t. If I had maybe you wouldn’t have – it wouldn’t –”

“Hey, woah, _no_.” Billy’s hand shoots across the counter to wrap around Max’s wrist. “It’s not your fault. I wouldn’t have believed you.”

Max swipes her hand under her nose, sniffles a little. “I still could have –”

Billy squeezes her wrist hard enough that Max flinches a little, frowning. “Listen to me really carefully, shitbird,” he says, voice hard. “You couldn’t have done anything. None of you could. It’s not on you.”

“It’s not on you either,” Steve points out.

Billy glares over his shoulder with an absolutely murderous expression. Looks like they’re gonna have to keep having that conversation. How many times will Steve get to say it before Billy beats his face in? How many times will he have to say it before Billy believes him?

While Billy’s distracted Max shoots Steve a pointed look. He’s spent enough time around her to know that she’s got something to say that she doesn’t want Billy to hear. And isn’t that a worrying thought, he’s on the same wavelength as a bunch of fourteen-year-olds. He nudges Billy with his knee.

“Why don’t you shower? Not sure what the setup is at the cabin.” When Billy hesitates, Steve puts a gentle hand on his shoulder. Ignores Max’s curious gaze on them. “Don’t worry, she’ll still be here when you’re done.”

Max waits until Billy’s slipped up the stairs and the sound of water is echoing through the pipes to turn to Steve.

“Joyce is gonna bring El and Will tomorrow. So she can read him. See if he’s still flayed.”

“He’s not.”

“You don’t know that.”

Steve doesn’t know that. But he’s got a good feeling about it. He might not be book smart, but he’s got gut instinct out the wazoo. And his gut is saying the Mind Flayer isn’t suctioned onto Billy like the world’s worst barnacle anymore.

“If he was flayed he wouldn’t still be here.”

Max pulls a face. “If he wasn’t flayed he wouldn’t be hugging me.”

Steve’s pretty sure if Billy was flayed, hugging Max would be bottom of his list of things to do. Right after turning the whole town into monster goop and trying to kill her best friend. Not that he’s gonna tell her that.

“Come on, Max, he loves you.”

Max looks at him like he’s just taken a shit on the table. “He _hates_ me. I’m the reason we even came here and he was so mad and he’s never forgiven me and –”

She’s panting, panicked, face pale. Steve’s no stranger to panic attacks, knows all the signs like the back of his hand. He slips round the counter to wrap an arm around her as fast as he can.

“Woah, _woah_ – breathe, Max. _Breathe_. It’s okay.” He rubs a soothing line over her trembling shoulders. “He doesn’t hate you. I know he was a dick before but he’s – he’s different now.”

Max tucks herself into his side, breathing calming from panicked to just ragged. She’s never seemed so small. The thought makes his stomach ache.

“You think so?” she asks into his shoulder.

“I do.”

Before Billy hated his guts. Before Billy would’ve hit him for even looking at him. Before Billy would never have kissed him or touched him or let him do the same. If there’s one good thing to come out of all this, it’s that Billy’s different now.

Steve leans back to give her some space to breath, pretends he doesn’t see her scrubbing at her face. “You know,” he says slowly, carefully, “Dustin never told me why you moved.”

“He doesn’t know.” The water shuts off upstairs; Max’s eyes flick nervously towards the ceiling. “I can’t tell you.”

There’s a story there. A secret. Something big, something dangerous. It could be a million different things and Steve’s not great at guessing games. And this is one thing he probably shouldn’t be taking guesses at.

“Did Billy do something?” he hedges.

Max swallows. Above them the ceiling creaks as Billy moves through Steve’s room. When she looks back her eyes are wide and scared. He’s only ever seen her look that way once before: when Billy was bleeding out in her arms.

“I can’t tell you.” She sets her jaw; something about it makes her look weirdly like Billy. “I won’t do that to him again.”

Steve doesn’t push. He’s not Nancy, won’t try to force it out of her. So they sit in silence instead, Max eating more toast, Steve mainlining more coffee until Billy comes thundering down the stairs. He’s got on one of Steve’s old Hawkins High sweatshirts; Steve tries not to stare at the way it stretches across Billy’s shoulders and chest. Knows he’s failed when Billy winks at him.

“Okay losers,” he says, grin wolfish. He looks like he’s gonna eat Steve alive. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

Hopper’s cabin has been untouched _since_ , so they stack old comforters and pillows and a bag of clothes that Steve is only sixty percent sure will fit Billy in the trunk. Billy hunkers down in the backseat under a blanket while they drop Max at the school gates. Steve waves at the rest of the kids hovering by the bike racks, so fucking thankful that they actually listened to him for once and stayed away. They’re gonna ask him for something big as a thank you, he’s sure. Knowing those little shits it’ll be a trip to Disneyland.

Billy stays hidden until they get into the woods. Then he pops up like a fucking Jack-in-the-box and Steve nearly jumps out of his skin. Billy just laughs as he clambers over into the passenger seat.

“Why so twitchy, Harrington?”

Steve swallows against the panic that’s been crawling up his throat since they turned off the main road. The shadows of the woods, all those trees moving in an invisible wind – the fear beats like a drum inside his chest.

“I’m not twitchy.”

It’s a lie. He’s keyed up like he’s snorted a line of coke. Fingers tapping on the steering wheel, tugging at his hair, knee bouncing up-down-up-down in time with his rabbiting heart. Billy’s watching every tiny shift, his gaze heavy like a brand. Steve doesn’t want to look in case he doesn’t like what he sees

“You’re _pretty_ fucking twitchy.” Billy laughs, digs around in the glovebox for Steve’s cigarettes. “Am I making you nervous, baby?”

“Fuck off.”

Billy rolls his eyes, says “No need to get your panties in a twist,” but he drops it. Spends the rest of the drive smoking and staring out the window like the meaning of life is somewhere in the shifting trees.

Eventually the forest thins out and they’re pulling up at a sun-bleached shack. Steve’s never been out here before but he likes the look of it. It’s exactly the type of place he can imagine Hopper living in: squat, practical, almost invisible between the trees. The air is clear and crisp when they step out, sunlight slanting through bare branches.

Billy stretches, shirt riding up. That sliver of skin – it makes Steve itch in places he shouldn’t scratch. He forces his gaze away. Like, get a fucking grip, it’s just skin.

But it’s too late, Billy’s caught him. _Again_. He’s grinning like the cat that got the cream.

“See something you like, pretty boy?”

Steve rolls his eyes. Pops the trunk to get all their shit out, but Billy’s not taking no for an answer. He plasters himself to Steve’s back, nosing above the collar of his coat, breathes hot air over his skin. Slips one hand under layer upon layer of clothing until his cold fingers are dragging over the vulnerable curve of Steve’s belly. Demanding attention.

“Asked you a question, Harrington,” he says right into Steve’s ear.

Billy’s voice is honey sweet, dangerous like gasoline. Steve takes a breath of cold, cold air like that’ll put out the fire Billy’s just set in his veins. When he opens his mouth all that comes out is air.

“Ste-eve,” Billy song-songs. “Answer me.”

It’s hard to make his vocal chords work but somehow Steve manages it.

“You know I do.”

Billy licks a stripe up his neck, nips at his ear. The grin he presses into Steve’s jaw feels dangerous, all teeth.

“Right answer.”

Then he bites down, the right side of too hard. Too much. Steve nearly chokes on his tongue.

“ _Stop it_.” He throws an elbow back into Billy’s stomach, like that’ll get Billy to back off. He doesn’t budge; guy’s built like a brick shithouse, of course he doesn’t move. “Come on, it’s cold. Let’s go inside.”

Billy’s not having it. His hand slips down, down, down, cupping Steve through his jeans. The pressure of his fingers – god, it feels so good Steve’s lightheaded, especially with Billy breathing hot and heavy in his ear, saying shit like “Come on, baby, let me touch you. S’not like the squirrels are gonna care.”

Except when Steve glances up there is a squirrel sitting on the roof of the cabin, staring right at them. It looks _scandalised_. He shoves backwards, manages to get enough space between them to turn and shove a pillow into Billy’s arms.

“Inside. Now.”

Billy stays close as Steve climbs the steps to the front door, as he finds the spare key under the mat and unlocks the door. Inside the cabin smells a little damp and musty, all the surfaces coated in a layer of dust, nothing left but furniture covered in sheets. But something about it is homey. Familiar. The stag head on the wall, the wood stacked carefully by the burner. The worn red fabric of the couch when Steve whips the sheet off it. Everything warmed by the low winter sun streaming through the windows. It’s almost like he can feel Hop’s presence in there with them.

He drops his bags down, kicking up dust that spins around them in the sunlight. The moment they hit the floor, Billy’s grabbing him, spinning him, shoving him hard until he’s falling backwards onto the couch. There’s a flash of panic – Billy only shoves like that if he’s about to start swinging – but then Billy’s climbing straight into his lap like a stripper who just got tipped.

Oh. _That’s_ what’s happening.

Billy kisses hard enough to bruise, teeth sharp against Steve’s lip, nails digging into his shoulders. A little feral, an edge of violence. It gets Steve hard so fast it’s embarrassing. Of course he’s got a thing for violence, of fucking course. Why is he even surprised?

He manages to get enough brain cells together to find Billy’s hips and pull him down. Has to break away to gasp out “Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ,” when Billy grinds down on right his dick like he’s trying to get dicked through two layers of clothing.

Billy laughs against his lips. “Yeah, baby, that’s the idea.”

Well shit. That’s how the afternoon’s going then.

There are so many reasons they shouldn’t do this right now. Everything’s cover in dust sheets. Half their stuff’s still in the car. The door’s not even properly shut. The squirrels are probably gonna come and bite their balls for interrupting their peaceful afternoon.

“We should –” It’s so hard to get words out when Billy’s sucking his brain out with his tongue. “Fuck, Billy, we should – we should unpack –”

Billy grabs his jaw, hooks his thumb into his mouth, fingertip salty on Steve’s tongue. “Shut it, Harrington.”

And Steve shouldn’t let Billy tell him what to do, but really he’s weak. Billy – Billy’s got the face of a model and the body of a porn star. And when all that’s in Steve’s lap, grinding down on him, he doesn’t really stand a chance. He’s a good guy but he’s not a _saint_.

 _Especially_ not when Billy’s wiggling a hand between them, popping the button on Steve’s jeans. He takes him out slowly, fingers dry and calloused, and Steve freezes so he doesn’t come just from that. Billy’s not even _doing_ anything, just holding his dick loosely, staring down at it like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen, tongue sliding slickly over his lips like he’s _hungry_. Steve’s going out of his fucking mind.

And then Billy has to start talking.

“Would you look at that,” he says, low and rough. “That’s why they call you King Steve, huh? Knew you’d be a grower. All those showers after basketball – don’t know how I kept my hands off you. I would’ve just got down on my knees right there if I’d known you’d be so easy.”

“ _Billy_.” It comes out slurred around Billy’s thumb, whiny like every needy high school girl Steve’s ever got to second base with – but he can’t give a flying fuck. Billy’s hand feels so _good_. “C’mon, can you just –”

Billy finally tears his gaze away from the space between them, drags it up-up-up Steve’s heaving chest, his flushed throat, the spit-slick curve of his lips wrapped around his thumb. Catches Steve with it. And god, Billy’s _eyes_. Dark like ink, like the ocean at night, deep enough to drown in. Wouldn’t that be a way to go.

“Easy, baby,” he says as he finally starts to stroke, “I got you. I’ll get you there.”

Steve’s so hard it hurts. Wants it so bad he thinks he might die from it. There’s no way he’s gonna last, not with Billy’s hand tight around him, Billy’s fucking _eyes_ burning him like the sun. Every twist of Billy’s fingers around him, every press of his thumb against Steve’s tongue is winding him higher and higher – and just like that that’s it, he’s done, comes so hard his whole body shuts down for a second, totally offline, braindead.

Billy keeps stroking until Steve’s whining and squirming, torn between pulling away and hitching his hips into Billy’s wet hand until he’s got it up again.

But finally, _finally_ Billy lets him go. Brings his slick hand up to his mouth. And fuck, it’s a good thing Steve’s already come because the sight of Billy’s tongue lapping his come up like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted is enough to make his dick twitch hard.

And then, as if that’s not enough, Billy’s sliding two fingers into his mouth, taking his other hand away from Steve’s mouth to press down over his dick. Jesus, this fucking guy. Steve’s not got enough brain cells left to do anything other than slide his hands up Billy’s thighs to his ass, squeeze the hard line of muscle there like he’s wanted to for months.

Not that he needs to more than that – because it only takes ten seconds before Billy’s bucking up against his own hand, back arching, spit dripping down his fingers as his mouth goes slack.

“Holy shit.” Steve watches the dark stain spread over the seat of Billy’s sweatpants. “Did you just –”

“ _Fuck_.” Billy drops his head forward onto Steve’s shoulder, panting hard. “Jesus fucking _Christ_.”

Yeah, Steve’s sentiments entirely.

He’s never been stunned by sex before but this – Billy – it’s overwhelming. Billy even seems like he might be too. He’s getting heavier in Steve’s lap, gone boneless, both hands curled into Steve’s t-shirt and he tucks himself right up against him. His hair is damp with sweat, golden in the sunlight, taking up the entirely of Steve’s vision.

“Next time,” Steve says, mouth full of curls, “We’re gonna get naked, I swear to god.”

Billy chuckles, turning his head to drag his mouth over Steve’s jaw. “Next time, huh?”

He sounds sleepy, satisfied, doesn’t look like he’s gonna freak out or run away again. Steve carefully inches his arms around Billy’s back. It’s a risk, a stupidly big one, but if Billy decides this is the reason he’s gonna murder Steve, it’ll have been worth it.

But Billy doesn’t snap. Just presses closer, _closer,_ like he’s trying to fuse them together. And Steve – he kinds likes this. Kinda _loves_ this. Billy all soft and slow, breathing gentle against his skin. The quiet sounds of the forest right beyond the door. The safety of the afternoon light where nothing can touch them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, at this point this is just porn vaguely disguised as a plot. There’s probably more. Merry Christmas ya filthy animals.


	4. Chapter 4

Steve wakes up at the asscrack of dawn to Billy slobbering on his shoulder. There’s a spring from the lumpy mattress digging into his spine. A bird screeching on the windowsill. Sunlight streaming right into his eyes.

Fuck whoever invented mornings.

But looking at Billy, maybe it’s not all bad. Curled up against him, face all relaxed with sleep, he looks kinda – sweet. Innocent. A little angelic. It’s all false advertising, Billy is exactly none of those things, but Steve’s stupid heart still flip-flops anyway.

Billy stays fast asleep as Steve carefully slips out of his octopus grip. And while Steve gets up and gets dressed and stubs his toe very loudly and painfully on the doorframe on his way to the kitchen. All he does is roll over into the warm spot Steve’s left and make some really cute snuffling noises.

Steve watches the squirrels and the birds and the rest of the noisy fuckers outside as he makes coffee. Should he be worried that Billy sleeps like the dead? Did he not get any sleep when he was actually dead? God, the whole thing’s exhausting to think about for more than a second. How is it only Friday? The past forty-eight hours have been months long. 

Billy’s _still_ asleep when he heads out. Steve figures he can leave him alone for an hour. All he’s got to do is go home to pick up more clothes. Get some food from the grocery store, tins of soup and beans and other shit that Billy will definitely roll his eyes at. Call in sick again – and leave Robin a message that’ll hopefully be more than just him screaming into the phone. It's only an hour. Sixty minutes, however many second. Not much can happen in an hour. Right?

He manages it all in fifty-eight minutes. Drives back to the cabin with shaky hands on the wheel, his heart in his mouth.

The only thing that seems to have happened is that Joyce has arrived. Shit, he wanted to be here when they got here, just in case. They’ve got no idea what’s gonna happen when El does a deep-dive into Billy’s head – or maybe something’s already happened. Something _bad_. There’s nothing moving behind the windows, everything hushed around him like the forest is holding its breath. He remembers that silence from the tunnels.

Steve takes a deep breath – please, _please_ don’t let anything have happened – and opens the door.

There’s – nothing. No blood, no guts, no monsters. Just Will and Joyce on the couch, watching where El and Billy are sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the floor, El blindfolded with Billy’s head in her hands, thin fingers tucked into his hair. Billy’s eyes are closed but he’s frowning, uncomfortable, shoulders tight and tense. It’s not the weirdest thing Steve’s seen this year, but it’s definitely up there.

“What –”

Joyce and Will shush him. Steve sets the bags down as quietly as he can and perches on the arm of the couch. Will turns big eyes up at him.

“El’s reading him,” he whispers. “If the Mind Flayer’s in him, she’ll find it.”

“It’s not.” How many times does Steve have to say it before people start believing him?

Will just shakes his head. “That’s what I thought too. But it was.”

Goosebumps break out all down Steve’s arms. Fuck, that’s a terrifying thought. He doesn’t know if he can watch this. If Will’s right – if El starts screaming – if Billy attacks her – he probably should _stay_ for those reasons, but if he does he might puke from the panic racing through him and that won’t be helpful to anyone.

Steve makes a break for the kitchen. Doesn’t bang around like he wants to, just braces his hands over the sink and counts his breaths until the fear crawls back down his throat. Outside there’s frost on the ground, fallen leaves and dead grass and bare branches glittering in the morning sunlight. It’s beautiful, a little magical, like they’re in their own secret world. For a moment he can forget that there are monsters in the world, that Billy’s barely two days out of the grave, that a little girl is currently using her psychic powers to dig through his brain to find an interdimensional parasite.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there, blankly watching the squirrels kicking up dirt as they scurry around, before a warm hand settles between his shoulders.

“Steve, honey,” Joyce says, “How are you?”

“Fine,” he says even though he's not. Like, at all. When he turns, Joyce is looking at him like she knows it too. “Thanks for coming. It’s good you’re here.”

Joyce smiles, sweet but a little offended. “Of course, sweetheart. Just because we’ve moved doesn’t mean we won’t help.”

He didn’t think that, but he wouldn’t blame them for staying away. Hawkins is the worst. It’ll drag them all down, suck them dry, probably kill them off one by one. Fuck. That’s so morbid. He really shouldn’t go there. Shouldn’t visit, shouldn’t even drive through the neighbourhood – or he’ll end up killing himself before he hits twenty.

Steve sets about making coffee. Maybe if he has a cup or two or three it’ll help with how bad his hands are shaking. Joyce very politely ignores the way the mugs clatter around with his trembling.

“How’s Billy?” she asks. “He seems… quiet.”

That’s a great question. How is Billy? Steve’s only got about a fifty percent chance of guessing correctly at any given moment.

“Okay.” Or so he thinks. “Freaked out. But no Mind Flayer shit.”

Joyce hums vaguely. When Steve looks at her, she’s staring towards the living room, something shadowed in her eyes. “And he hasn’t caused any trouble? I know you had a problem with him last year.”

Was it only last year? It seems like a lifetime ago.

“No, he’s – he’s been okay.”

Joyce still looks concerned. “Are you sure? I heard it was bad.”

The laugh that crawls out of Steve’s mouth is strangled at best. Billy broke his cheekbone, fractured his nose, knocked out two of his teeth; he had to get six stitches in his forehead from that knock with the dinner plate. Bad is an understatement. But apparently Billy’s all bark and no bite, if you know how to handle him right. Okay, maybe a little bite – but it turns out Steve’s kinda into that.

“Really, it’s been okay. We’re good now.” For a given definition of _good_ anyway. “How are you guys?”

“Oh, you know.” Joyce’s voice is cheerful but her eyes are so, so sad. “Taking it day by day.”

Day by day. Yeah, that sounds about right. He can’t even imagine what it’s been like for them losing Hop. Yeah, getting the shit kicked out of him sucked, but it wasn’t like he lost a friend, a father.

“Mom,” Will calls quietly. “They’re done.”

The two of them traipse back to the living room. El’s taken her blindfold off but her and Billy haven’t got off the floor yet. Billy’s still hunched over; the set of his shoulders looks like he’s on the verge of screaming. The stoic expression he’s wearing is so brittle it feels like Steve just got stabbed in the spine with a hot poker.

“What’s the diagnosis, doc?” Billy asks in a falsely chipper voice.

El folds her blindfold carefully – then she smiles, bright like the sun after a storm. “It’s gone.”

Thank fuck for that. Not that Steve doubted it, but now they’ve got confirmation maybe everyone can stop freaking out so much.

“Could’ve told you that,” Billy mutters, but the line of his spine is already looser. He leans back on his palms, flicks his curls over his shoulder as he finally turns to grin at Steve like _duh._ Sunlight slanting through the window catches his face, turns his eyes into diamonds, his hair into spun gold.

God, he’s so hot. So _beautiful_. How the hell did Steve never notice before?

Across the room, El makes a surprised noise. When Steve glances over, she’s looking at him with huge, round eyes.

“Beautiful,” she says softly.

Well, that’s embarrassing. Fucking telepathic children.

Billy’s grinning at him like he knows exactly what El’s talking about, wide and toothy and more than a little smug. Steve wants to kiss it right off his face.

“All done?” Joyce is already reaching for her coat, a look on her face like she can’t wait to get out of there. Steve can’t really blame her; as much as him and Billy have taken over the cabin Hops’ ghost is still lurking in every corner.

El nods. “All done.”

“Wonderful.” Joyce puts her coat on, passes Will his. Yeah, they’re definitely not sticking around to reminisce about the good times. “I’ll drop you kids off at Mike’s. Steve, honey, we’re staying at the Motel 6 if you need anything. We’ll be here until Sunday.”

Behind her, Billy’s slowly climbing to his feet, reaching down to help pull El up. “Thanks, kid,” Steve hears him say, voice pitched low. “For now and – before.”

El smiles at him again, sunshine-bright. “Thank _you_ ,” she says.

You’d have to be looking real close at Billy to see his flinch. Luckily Steve’s the only one that can’t take his eyes off him. Billy steps away from her like he’s been burnt. Rounds the couch to Steve, slides right into Steve’s space like he belongs there. El’s smile inches towards blinding as she watches them.

Goddamn telepathic teenagers. 

“Thanks for coming,” Steve says again so he doesn’t do something stupid like bear-hug Billy until he stops looking like he wants to run away. That’s just asking to get hit.

“Anytime.” Joyce hands El her coat, glances at the two of them. The look on her face is so tender Steve wants to cry. “Billy, I’m glad you made it. We all could do with a second chance.

Billy makes a noise like she’s slapped him across the face.

Steve reaches out without thinking, slides a hand up over Billy’s shoulder until he’s cupping the back his Billy’s neck, hair tickling his wrist. Billy takes a shaky breath. Steve’s not totally sure he’s aware of how he’s leaning into Steve’s touch.

When Steve looks back Will’s staring at his hand on the curve of Billy’s shoulder like a lightbulb’s just flicked on in his head. Oh god. Steve’s seen that look before – it’s the look all the little nerds get when they think they’ve figured out the answer to a really complicated problem. Shit, shit, _shit_. He tries to communicate with his eyebrows that whatever conclusion Will’s come to is A) not correct and B) voicing it out loud is gonna end with everyone in this room dying as a result of Billy murdering them all or Steve exploding with embarrassment.

Will apparently doesn’t speak eyebrow because he just squints at Steve and opens his big fat mouth.

“Are you guys –”

“ _Time to go_ ,” Steve says over him, loudly and insistently. Hopefully no one notices how his voice goes up ten octaves in panic. “Wouldn’t want to keep the Party waiting.”

Will looks like he’s gonna say something else, something that’s gonna get them all killed, but Joyce is already bodily forcing him into his jacket. Small miracles and all that. As she hustles the kids out the door, Will gives them one last long look before he steps out into the fall air, the door swinging shut behind him. Steve heaves a sigh of relief.

“That went better than I thought,” he says into the silence that follows.

No answer. When Steve turns around, Billy’s sinking down onto the couch, head in his hands. His shoulders are trembling.

“Billy?”

Nothing. Steve sits next to him, uses gentle hands to turn Billy’s face to him. His face is horrified, his eyes shiny like he’s about to cry. Oh fuck.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Billy just yanks his face out of Steve’s grip with a grunt, which – not helpful. “Billy, come on, talk to me. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s wrong.”

Billy swallows once, twice, whole body shaking. It looks like he’s gonna go full silent treatment but then he says “It should’ve been the Chief that came back, not me,” so quietly Steve almost misses it. “I’m not a good person. I don’t deserve a second chance.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Steve grabs Billy’s face again, forces him to meet his gaze. “You literally died to save us, you idiot. If anyone deserves it it’s you.”

Billy somehow manages to blink away the tears enough to sneer at him. “That’s not how it works.”

“It kinda is.” For someone so smart Billy is all kinds of dumb.

Billy looks like he’s got more to say but fuck that – there’s been too much talking already and it’s barely even ten o’clock. Steve pushes until he gets Billy lying down, then drapes himself over him. Kisses him nice and deep and slow. Keeps going until Billy’s hiccupping breaths have evened out, until Billy’s more or less turned into jelly except for where he’s getting hard against Steve’s hip. Then Steve slides down his body, slips his fingers into Billy’s waistband and inches his sweatpants down.

Careful hands in his hair make him look up. Billy looks hesitant, uncertain. Well that’s disconcerting – he’s never seen Billy look like that before. Fuck, what _now_?

“You good?”

Billy swallows, throat bobbing. “You don’t have to,” he says, voice barely a whisper.

 _What_? Does Billy not want this? His dick clearly didn’t get the memo. And then – oh, _oh_ – understanding hits Steve over the head like a baseball bat full of nails. It’s not that Billy doesn’t want it, he just doesn’t want to ask this of him, like this is somehow gonna be a step too far in Steve’s big gay experience. And woah, no, Steve’s doing this because he wants to. Fuck, he really _really_ wants to. He’s never thought about blowing someone before, but he’s got a real good feeling about this.

“Shut up, Hargrove, and let me suck your dick.”

All of Billy’s objections die real quick when Steve drops his head to mouth at him through his boxers, drags his teeth a little bit over the shape of his dick, pulls the waistband down inch by inch so he can lick at his skin as it appears. Billy yanks at his hair, all demanding. When Steve looks up his pupils are blown wide behind those long lashes. The heat in his eyes makes him dizzy.

“ _Harrington_.”

It’s a threat. A plea. Steve takes pity on him. Finally pulls his boxers down and watches Billy’s dick springs up. Wet at the tip and – shit, Steve’s mouth is watering. This is _definitely_ gonna be good.

He opens wide, sinks his mouth down-down-down, lets Billy slide right over his tongue. It’s sloppy, wet, spit pooling in his cheeks and dripping down his chin, probably definitely the worst blowjob Billy’s ever gonna have – but he doesn’t seem to give a shit if the noises he’s making are any sign.

“Jesus, baby, so good,” he’s babbling and his voice is all shaky and desperate in a way Steve fucking _loves_ , “So good for me. Your mouth was fucking made for this.”

Steve moans low in his throat. Feels it vibrate through him and into Billy and Billy shudders above him, lets out a startled “Mother _fucker_ ,” threads his fingers tight into Steve’s hair to hold him exactly where he wants.

It’s a lot. Like, _a lot_ a lot. Billy’s pushing in harder. Deeper. He should probably hold Billy’s hips down like girls do – but fuck that, he _likes_ this, the feel of Billy dragging over his tongue, hitting the back of his throat, tears prickling his eyes when he gags. _Especially_ when it gets Billy whining for him, high in his throat. Who’d have thought he could make Billy fucking Hargrove sound like _that_?

“ _Steve_ ,” Billy groans and Steve knows what’s coming, can feel it in the tense line of Billy’s thighs, the grip he’s got on his hair. Knows he should pull back, maybe jerk Billy off, but he wants it. Wants to _taste_ it.

He shoves his head forward until Billy hits the back of his throat and just like that it’s over, Billy’s coming, hands tightening viciously in Steve’s hair. It tastes really fucking weird but he swallows as much as he can, only splutters a little. Pretty good for a first time.

Billy pulls him up on top of him as he’s wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. Kisses him, open-mouthed, just this side of obscene. Licks his own taste out of Steve’s mouth.

“Holy fuck, Harrington,” he says when they pull back, voice shaking as hard as his hands. “Your mouth, I swear to god.”

Well shit, was he that good? “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Billy digs his thumb into Steve’s lower lip, presses forward until he hits teeth. He goes a little cross-eyed when Steve sticks his tongue out to lick at it. “Now take your fucking pants off.”

Like he’s gonna have to ask twice. Steve shoves everything down until his dick’s bobbing free, nearly chokes when Billy wraps a warm hand round him. Tries and fails miserably to hold in his groan.

“ _Billy_.” Fuck, he can’t think with Billy gripping him like that. “You gotta –”

Billy shushes him. He does that thing again where he just holds Steve possessively, a thoughtful look on his face like he’s deciding just what to do with him. 

And then Billy spits on him.

Actually fucking _spits_ on his _dick_ , gross bubbly saliva that drips from the tip all the way down to Steve’s balls. It’s so _gross_ – and yet Steve’s dick is twitching so hard he might come right then and there, holy _shit_.

Billy grins at him, all smug. “You like that, baby?”

And then he does it again.

It drags an animal noise out of Steve. _Fuck_. He does like it, he really _really_ does. Billy’s turning him into a goddamn pervert.

Billy’s looking all smug as he jerks Steve, spreading all that spit around until Steve’s slick with it, but only a few times before he rolls over away from him. Steve’s confused for a split second until Billy reaches back for his hip and drags him forward, until Steve’s plastered up against his back, dick sliding along the line of Billy’s ass before Billy shifts and Steve can drive forward, right between his legs.

It’s not quite wet enough with just spit, but every thrust smears his own wetness against Billy’s skin, eases the drag until it’s perfect, until he’s nudging up behind Billy’s balls with every thrust of his hips. And every time Billy pushes back against him, tiny helpless hitches of his hips like it’s too-much-not-enough.

“ _Fuck_ , Harrington,” he’s saying, voice all raspy like he was the one with a dick down his throat, “You feel so good. Gonna get me hard again.” And then, when Steve catches on his rim on the next thrust, “Can’t wait to get you inside me.”

Steve groans into the hot damp of Billy’s hair. He’s gonna lose his goddamn mind. Billy just chuckles, low in his throat.

“I know, baby, it’s gonna so good. Don’t you worry.”

They rock together, over and over and over, until Steve’s lost, can’t think of anything but the slick slide between Billy’s legs. He's done this with girls before but something about this is more intense, like someone’s pumping fireworks into his veins.

“Yeah, come on,” Billy says around a gasp when Steve thrust harder. “Mark me up. I want it. Make me yours.”

Then he’s reaching back to yank his hair the same time he squeezes his thighs tight around Steve’s dick.

It hits Steve so hard he barely has time to think. Just on the edge one moment and over it the next. All the breath whooshes out of his lungs and he’s gone, he’s floating, he’s filled with helium and is drifting up up and away.

It takes a long time for the haze in his brain to fade away. When he comes back down, Billy’s petting him, carding gentle fingers through his hair. “You good?” he murmurs.

Steve hums a little in response; that’s the most he can manage, probably for the next hour at least. His brain’s officially broken.

“ _Steve_.” The fingers in Steve’s hair tighten a little, demanding attention, prickles of pleasure-pain skating along his scalp. “You alive?”

Steve nuzzles his hair. “ _Shh_ , sleeping.”

Billy makes a noise that could be a laugh, could be a sigh. “We need to clean up.”

“In a minute.”

Steve likes being dirty, likes the taste of Billy on his tongue and the wet heat of Billy’s thighs around his softening dick. They’re probably only gonna do this all again later anyway and there’s no way there’s enough hot water for that many showers.

He presses a little closer instead, mouthing under Billy’s hair at the soft skin behind his ear, nipping at his lobe. Billy groans, hips nudging back, and if he thinks Steve’s forgotten what he just said he’s got another thing coming. He reaches over Billy’s hip to grope at his spit-tacky dick.

“I get you hard again yet, Hargrove?”

Billy’s hand snaps to Steve’s wrist. “No,” he says breathlessly, but Steve knows he’s a liar from the way his dick gives a valiant twitch in his hand. When Steve squeezes a little, he gasps. “Shit, _Steve_ , just – wait, okay? Later. ’M gonna need a minute.”

Steve pets him one last time before he relents. _Later_. It’s the best kind of promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SOS this is actually turning into a proper story.


	5. Chapter 5

“So,” Robin says. “Billy.”

There was no option but to do his afternoon shift at Family Video. Keith definitely doesn’t like him enough to let him take another sick day without just straight up firing him and Steve’d only admit it under torture but he kinda likes being able to spend time with Robin.

“Yes,” he replies carefully. “Billy.”

Robin blows a bubble with her gum, pops it right in Steve’s face. Gross. “What the fuck?”

Honestly, Steve’s been wondering the same thing. For the last few years really. It’s pretty much the first thought that crosses his mind these days.

“What happened?” Bubble. Pop. Seriously, _so_ gross, Steve’s gonna ban her from gum for the rest of her life. “How did he –”

"No idea.” Steve scrubs a hand over his eyes. If he had the answer to that, all their lives would be so much simpler. “He just showed up at my door.”

Bubble. Pop. “Why you?”

“I just said I have _no idea_ , Robin.”

Bubble. Pop. “How is he alive?”

“Does it matter?” Steve pokes the next bubble with his finger so it explodes all across Robin’s lips. “He’s just alive.”

Robin eyes him like he’s just brutally murdered a puppy right in front of her, but she spits the gum into the trash. Thank god.

“Of course it matters. He got hole-punched by a monster. No one should survive that.” Her face slowly slides into a look he recognises from the summer, the one that usually means trouble is incoming. “What if it’s still in him? Like, that’s why he’s not dead. Is he, you know – different?”

Other than the fact that Billy apparently wants to put his hand on Steve’s dick? “No, not really.”

Well that didn’t sound convincing in the slightest. Robin’s expression agrees. It clearly says she’s never been less convinced by Steve in her life.

“Are you sure? Is it safe to leave him alone?”

Maybe? Probably? Billy seemed fine with it when Steve had left him in the kitchen making an omelette with a truly obscene amount of cheese. Even so, Steve’s been keeping his eyes on the clock, counting down the minutes until he can finally get the hell out of here and back to the cabin, can make sure that Billy’s still alive and breathing. That the past few days haven’t been a really intense hallucinatory side effect of all the drugs the Russians gave him.

“I’m pretty sure it’s fine.”

“But there is _something_.” Steve makes a noncommittal noise but Robin jabs his hard in the shoulder, which _ow_. “Come on, Harrington. I can see it in your face.”

He thinks about lying. About denying it. The last thing he needs is to give Robin another reason to think he’s even more of an idiot on top of his regular levels of dumbassery and this news is really gonna take the cake.

“He, um. We, uh.”

“Spit it out, dingus,” Robin says with another poke. Ow again. “I haven't got all day.”

Steve graciously doesn't point out that they do in fact have all day. And he'd like to have all day to work himself up to saying this because forcing the words out feels a little like trying to remove his guts with an ice cream scoop.

“I'm hooking up with Billy.”

Robin's jaw drops. Steve gets ten seconds of perfect, blessed silence before she squeals in delight.

“Oh my god. Oh. My. God.” She claps her hands excitedly; Jesus, he already regrets saying anything. “This is perfect. This is - holy shit, Steve. How did you – _when_ did you – did I turn you gay by _osmosis_?”

“I’m not gay,” Steve says and then immediately rolls his eyes at the glare Robin levels at him. God, you say something stupid once or twice and everyone thinks you’re an idiot forever. “I mean, I still like girls. I just like Billy too.”

Robin snorts. “Of course you’re bisexual. Figures.” Before he can ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean, she’s clapping her hands again. The enthusiasm is terrifying. “ _Wow_. Billy Hargrove. Who’d have thought?”

Literally no one, Steve included – right up until Billy started flirting with him like he was trying to get Steve to put out on prom night. 

“But…” Robin leans against the counter, looks at him all considering. “Isn’t he kinda an asshole?”

“Eh,” Steve says with a shrug. Once upon a time he thought Billy was an asshole too. Now he's discovering that Billy is an enigma wrapped in a fuzzy blanket hidden in armour plating coated with poison. 

“What do you mean _eh_?” Robin snaps. “He is. He beat the shit out of you.”

“So did Jonathan,” Steve points out. “I don’t think that means he’s into guys too.”

Robin gives him a withering look, but it’s her fond one not the how-many-times-did-you-hit-your-head-as-a-child one.

“Do we need to tell anyone?” She flaps a hand when Steve opens his mouth to tell her they’re definitely fucking _not_ they telling anyone unless absolutely necessary. Does she want Billy to start committing homicide? “Not about you and Billy, dingus. I mean tell someone he’s _alive_. You know, like those government guys that dealt with the Russians?”

“Yeah, no.” Involving the government is never a good idea. Mostly because they tend to just make things a thousand times worse. “We’re not telling them anything.”

“Well, he should at least see a doctor.”

“El checked him out. It’s gone. And the –” Fuck, what should he call them? Monster punctures? Tentacle wounds? “– his injuries are all healed.”

Robin rolls her eyes. “Doesn’t mean he shouldn’t see one. Or a therapist. Making out with you isn’t gonna help him come to terms with his death. You’re not a shrink.”

Steve's definitely not a shrink. Can barely manage his own trauma. But if Billy wants to sort through his issues by fucking them out then that's fine with him.

“No doctors,” he tells her, trying to project _I am a responsible adult and you should listen to me_ into his tone. It probably won’t work on her but he has to at least try. “No shrinks. _Definitely_ no government.”

Robin purses her lips for a long second before she huffs a “ _Fine_.” She props her chin on her hand, arranges her face in a starry-eyed expression that’s as fake as a three-dollar bill. “So… is he a good kisser? Did you guys get to first base? Second base? What’s he like in bed?”

Steve glares at her. Unsurprisingly it doesn’t make her stop. “Can we not talk about this?”

“Nope. We’ve got –” She glances at the clock. “– three hours left. Tell me everything.”

By the time they close, Robin’s back to popping gum and Steve’s contemplating all the ways he can kill her with VHS tapes.

“Be safe,” she calls as she walks to her car while Steve locks up. “Use protection. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Nope, VHS tapes are too good for her – he’s gonna find a demodog and sic it on her.

It’s dark when he gets back to the cabin, the woods almost pitch black around him, but the cabin’s a bright beacon, yellow light spilling from the curtains, smoke puffing from the chimney. Inside it’s warm and welcoming and smells amazing, smoky from the logs burning in the fireplace and whatever’s cooking in the pot on the stove. Billy’s curled up on the couch with a book, looking all cosy in one of Steve’s knit sweaters.

The whole thing is really weirdly domestic. Steve fucking loves it.

Billy glances up as he kicks off his sneakers. Maybe he’s imagining it but his face looks kinda eager. “How was work?”

“Fine. _Boring_. Apparently my taste in movies sucks.” Billy snorts as Steve sinks down onto the couch next to him. “So I talked to Robin. She thinks we should take you to a doctor, but I don’t know if that –”

“Robin?” Billy’s sitting up straighter, puts his book down. “Who’s Robin?”

“Uh, Robin Buckley? From high school?” There’s absolutely no recognition on Billy’s face, which – fair. Steve didn’t exactly remember her either the first time they had a shift at Scoops together. “She’s a friend. My best friend, I guess.”

Billy’s giving him a look, but Steve’s not exactly sure what it means until he says carefully, “Your girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Girlfriend. _Ha_.

“Sure,” Billy says in a way that clearly means _you’re a fucking liar_.

“She’s not,” Steve says again. What the hell is going on here? Why is Billy acting like Steve’s pissed in his coffee? Unless… “Are you jealous?”

Billy scowls at him. “No.”

Laughter bubbles up unexpectedly. Billy’s jealous. _Billy Hargrove_ is jealous of _Robin_. Of movie obsessed, nerdy, band geek Robin. Of his lesbian best friend.

Billy bares his teeth. “Why the fuck are you laughing?”

Oh shit, he’s gonna rearrange Steve’s face but this is too. Goddamn. Funny.

“She’s not –” God, it’s hard to talk when he’s choking with laughter. “She’s not my girlfriend, dude. She’s not even into guys. She’s a _lesbian_.” Billy’s face says he doesn’t believe him at all. “I’m serious. She’s really into Tammy Thompson. You know, from biology?”

But Billy’s not having it. Turns his back with a “Fuck off.”

“Billy, c’mon. Billy. _Billy_.” Steve grabs his shoulder, tries to turn him around but Billy’s determined. The tense line of his shoulders makes Steve nervous. “Come on. What’s wrong?”

“If she’s your girlfriend just say it. Stop fucking with me.”

Oh, _that’s_ what this is about. It’s not jealousy; it’s hurt. It’s fear. It’s betrayal. 

“I’m not fucking with you,” Steve says as gently as he can.

“I mean it, Harrington.” Billy’s voice shakes, betrays him. “If this is some game to you –”

“It’s not, I swear.” Billy’s shoulders are still drawn up like he’s about to start swinging but he turns around when Steve pulls at him again. “What, you think I’m not into this? You think I’ve been faking this whole time? Come on, man.

Billy’s jaw is set, his lips curling in a sneer. “Whatever.”

“ _Hey_.” Steve grabs Billy’s face, probably too hard if the wince is anything to go by, but he’s got to make him pay attention. “Listen to me, you idiot.”

This might be the hardest thing Steve’s ever done and he’s fought monsters. But he’s in so deep with Billy already – he might as well just say it. In for a dime, in for a dollar and all that.

“I’m really into you. I’ve been thinking about you for – fucking _months_. God, all summer at the pool – I was five seconds away from pulling you off that lifeguard tower and shoving my hands down your pants. And before that, at school – _Jesus_ , Billy, I don’t know how you didn’t catch me staring earlier.” He closes his eyes. Forces his lungs to keep working. It feels like he’s prying his ribs apart one by one. “I want you, okay? I want you so bad.”

Silence. Stone cold silence. That’s not a good sign after a heartfelt confession.

Steve cracks an eye open. Please, _please_ don’t let Billy be mad. Surely they’re past the beating to death part of whatever this thing between them is by now?

Sure enough, Billy’s expression says he’s about to lay hands on him. Although whether that means he’s gonna beat him to a pulp or fuck him into next week, Steve’s not entirely sure.

“Yeah?”

Well, it’s not a punch at least. Steve can work with that.

“Yeah.” He flashes Billy a smarmy grin, winks all over-the-top like Billy used to at girls at school. “You know you’re the only for me, baby.”

Billy blinks at him, once, twice, considering. Slowly, slowly the look in his eyes slides away from that sharp hurt into something that’s getting hotter by the second.

“The only one for you, huh? You sure you can handle that, Harrington?”

Oh yeah, Steve can definitely work with that.

“Wouldn’t say it if I couldn’t.”

It makes Billy’s face break into a grin, wide and wicked like a gremlin. He leans back a little, eyes dragging slowly, slowly over Steve’s body. God, it’s so fucking hot, Steve’s gonna burst into flames any minute. How isn’t he on fire yet?

“Bedroom,” Billy says. “ _Now_.”

It should be easy to get from here to there, but it’s so much harder when Billy’s grabbing him round the waist, pinning him against the doorframe, licking into his mouth like he owns it. Rolling their hips together so Steve can feel where he’s hard as a rock in his pants.

“Such a fucking tease, Harrington,” he groans into Steve’s ear. “These _jeans_. Fucking indecent. Dunno how you haven’t got arrested yet.”

 _Ha_. Like Billy can talk – those sweatpants are stretched so tight over his thighs and ass he might burst out of them at any moment. Not that Steve’s got enough brain cells to point that out when Billy’s pulling him off the wall by his belt loops and shoving him down on the bed.

The light from the lamp catches Billy’s hair, the slick curve of his bottom lip as he sets about yanking Steve’s jeans and boxers off. As he drops to his knees by the bed with a thud. Steve thinks he’s gonna put his mouth on him, but then Billy’s curling a hand around his ankle, looking up the line of his body with eyes darker than midnight.

“Can I –”

“Yes.”

Steve doesn’t even know what he’s agreeing to, but he’s more than willing to find out.

He shivers when Billy guides his feet up onto the bed. Pushes his knees open a little so he’s on display. He should probably feel vulnerable, but Billy’s gaze on him just makes him hot all over. He looks like he’s gonna eat Steve alive. Whatever’s about to happen here is gonna blow his mind.

Slowly Billy sucks two fingers into his mouth, gets them so wet and sloppy they’re dripping when he pulls them out. Then he’s reaching down between Steve’s legs and slowly, slowly working a finger into his ass.

Steve freezes. What the fuck? What the _fuck_? He’s never felt anything like it before, his whole body stretching wide around Billy’s finger. It’s a _lot_. Kinda feels like his body can’t take it, like it won’t fit. Not painful but definitely could be, already on the edge of too-much-too-soon. He’s opening his mouth to say something, to tell Billy to stop or slow down, when Billy does _something_ with his finger that shocks a noise out of him, high-pitched and desperate and definitely something he’ll be embarrassed about later – but right now he doesn’t give a shit because _holy mother of god_ , what the _fuck_ , it’s like getting shocked from the inside out.

Slowly he lifts his head to stare down at Billy. “What the fuck was that?”

Billy grins at him from between his legs. “Bet you weren’t expecting that.”

No he certainly wasn’t. Not that Steve’s complaining – his whole body’s singing with the feeling. This is gonna be over real fast if Billy keeps that up. Probably even faster if Steve can get a hand on his dick. He reaches down but Billy bats his hand away.

“Nuh-uh.” The grin spreads even wider. “Not yet.”

He starts up a rhythm with his finger. Doesn’t even pull it out, just keeps nudging whatever it is in Steve that feels like touching a live wire. It makes Steve buck and whine, but Billy slings an arm across his hips, keeps him pinned, keeps him desperate.

“You like that, don’t you?” Billy asks over his whimpers. “Knew you would. Knew you’d be a little slut for my fingers.”

Their eyes meet for a moment before Steve has to look away because just that split-second of contact burns right through him like a fever, Billy’s expression setting him on fire.

“No, baby.” Billy leans up, wraps his hand around Steve’s jaw, forces his head back towards him, “Look at me when I’m talking to you. I asked you a question.”

“ _Billy_ ,” Steve says dizzily. “Fuck, will you –”

“Answer me,” Billy growls. Punctuates it with another press of his fingers.

“Yeah,” Steve manages to get out and his voice comes out thin, strained, desperate. It’d be embarrassing if he wasn’t so far gone. “I like it. I want it. You know I do so will you just –”

Billy shushes him. “Easy, baby, I’ve got you.” His thumb slides slickly over Steve’s bottom lip and he grins again like Steve’s gasping and moaning is the best thing he’s ever seen. “Gonna give you another seeing as you like it so much.”

Shit. He’s already stretched out further than he thought he could ever be – _another_ sounds like too much.

“No, fuck, Billy, I can’t –”

“Sure you can.” Billy ducks back to bite at the crease of his hip. Pushes his thighs open a little wider. Graciously ignores how Steve moans. “Just relax for me.”

Easier said than done. Especially when Billy spits on Steve’s hole where he’s spread open, pulls back only to press forward with two fingers. It burns a little, a bright spark of pain – but then Billy hits that spot again and it’s gone as fast as it came, the stretch and the burn and the ache turned to lightning in his veins. 

“Knew you could take it,” Billy says. Presses his teeth into the vulnerable curve of Steve’s belly as he works his fingers in and out, in and out. “Doing so good for me, baby.”

Oh _fuck_. The shudder Billy’s touch sets off rattles Steve down to his toes. He nearly rips the sheets to pieces when Billy licks a long line up his dick, sucks at the head. But he goes back to sucking bruises into the Steve’s thighs when he tries to buck up into his mouth.

“ _Billy_ –”

Billy grins up at him, wide and wicked. “Don’t worry, baby. Almost there.”

Yeah, he’s right, it won’t be long now. Steve’s lungs are burning, his fingers are tingling, his skin’s buzzing, stretched too tight over his bones. He never felt anything this good before, didn’t even know there could be anything this good. It fills him up like water, rolls through him like a wave, closer and closer to cresting – and then Billy twists his fingers and bites down hard.

Steve’s vision whites out. He comes with his toes curling and his ears ringing, a whimper on his lips and the bedsprings creaking under him. With Billy’s fingers in him deeper than he thought possible and Billy’s mouth biting brands into his skin.

The high ebbs, wavers, fades when Billy eases his fingers out. Fuck, he’s filthy, come splattered over his hips, his t-shirt, sweat damp in the hollow of his back. But who cares? All he wants is Billy next to him, skin on skin, warm under Steve’s hands.

“Hey,” he says. Jesus, his voice is wrecked and hoarse like he’s been screaming. “C’mere.”

But Billy doesn’t come here. Doesn’t even answer. Steve shoves up onto his elbows to look.

Billy’s got his forehead pressed hard against Steve’s shin, one hand curled possessively around Steve’s ankle, the other hidden from view by the edge of the bed. Steve can only see the jerk of his shoulder, the flex of his bicep – he’s jerking off, quick and dirty. Steve sits up to watch the obscene slide of Billy’s dick through his fingers, the flutter of Billy’s eyelashes against his cheeks, the slick curve of his lower lip. God, he’s so fucking beautiful porn stars would be jealous. Having him on his knees is a shot of cocaine straight to Steve’s heart.

He cups Billy’s jaw, tilts his head back so he can see him better. Billy’s eyes flicker open, dark and hungry and desperate, and he pants against Steve’s skin.

“Please,” he moans, jaw working, hand speeding up. “Steve, _please_.”

Steve hasn’t got enough brain cells to know what Billy’s asking for but the ones that are left apparently have their own ideas. His hand moves before he can think about it, swiping through the come on his t-shirt. Two slick fingers shove into Billy’s mouth, too hard, too fast, but the moment they touch the back of Billy’s throat he’s shuddering, groaning, _coming_ , thick ropes all over his hand and his top and the comforter.

Billy sucks on his fingers are he comes down. Laps at them all kittenish, laves over fingerprints and webbing and knuckles. Licks off every last drop of Steve’s come like he can’t get enough. It’s enough to make Steve’s dick twitch.

“You good?” he asks when it seems like Billy might be done trying to remove his fingerprints with his tongue.

Billy’s eyes slide open. “All good,” Steve thinks he says, all garbled around fingers. He gives them one last slurp before he slides off with a pop. Sits back to survey the scene in front of him. “Gonna need to wash this.”

Steve glances down at where Billy’s looking. The comforter’s a sticky white mess. Gross.

“In the morning.” That’s a problem for future Steve; right now he needs to focus all his energy on remembering how his legs work. “Fuck, I’m _starving_. What did you make?”

“Corn chowder.”

It shocks a laugh straight out of Steve. “Shit, Hargrove. Never knew you were such a good housewife.”

Billy growls, bares his teeth. Probably thinks he’s real scary. Steve should really tell him it’s hard to look threatening when your dick’s still hanging out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So maybe there's four more chapters. And a coda (or two). But don't tell anyone I told you 🤫


	6. Chapter 6

Sunday afternoon finds Steve lazing on the couch in shorts and t-shirt, Billy stripped down to his boxers and an ugly pair of mismatched socks, draped half on top of him, the two of them making out slowly and sloppily while the Pacers game plays on the radio. It’s not going anywhere – just a lot of lips and tongue, hands on warm skin and Billy breaking away from his mouth every now and then to say shit like “Fucking Richardson, what a dumb shot to miss” and “Tisdale was a genius pick this year” – but Steve’d be lying if he said he didn’t want to spend all day just doing this.

That’s totally what he plans on doing too, maybe with his own shirt off, maybe with his hand in Billy’s boxers – until voices outside cut through the lull of half-time commentary.

Billy tenses under Steve’s hands. “Who the fuck is that?”

“Hunters?” Steve suggests.

There’s no way it’s hunters. Hunters don’t wander around the forest talking at the top of their lungs about mages and dragons. With a sigh Steve untangles all his limbs from Billy. Staggers to the window and draws the curtain back far enough to peer around it.

“What the fuck,” he asks his reflection in the frosted windowpane.

Except it’s not a question because questions require answers – and there’s no good answer to why the entire gaggle of brats are sauntering towards the cabin like they’ve got a right to be there disrupting the peace and quiet of Steve’s Sunday.

Jesus, did they ride their _bikes_ out here? Steve’s gonna have to give them another lecture about traipsing around a forest full of bobcats and rattlesnakes and literal fucking monsters unsupervised right after he strangles them all.

“That better not be who I think it is,” Billy says. He steps up behind Steve to peer around the curtain too. The heat of his body is dizzying. “Make them go away.”

 _Ha_. That’s a good one. There’s no chance in hell of him managing that. Nancy? Probably. Jonathan? Most likely. Billy? Maybe if he goes with the threat-of-violence route. Steve? Nope. Those kids figured out he’s all bark and no bite right off the bat and no amount of yelling or threatening or witnessing Steve beat demodogs to death with a bat is gonna make them change their minds.

The first blows lands on the front door: bang, bang, _bang_ accompanied by Dustin’s squeaky “Steve, open up.”

“Don’t open it.” Billy’s warm hand slides up-up-up under his shirt as he sing-songs, “I’ll make it worth your while.”

It’d be so easy to just leave the kids out there and let someone else deal with them for a change. Sure, they might destroy the town with whatever half-cocked scheme this little visit is part of – but at least it won't be his problem. 

“Steve,” Billy says right in his ear. He scrapes a nail over Steve’s nipple, a reminder that he’s taking too long to decide. “Don’t open it.”

Shit. He really _really_ doesn’t want to open it – but Hawkins doesn’t need any more tragedy this year and no doubt the brats will end up setting something important on fire if they’re left unattended. Sometimes Steve is too good a person. These assholes don’t deserve him. He shoves Billy backwards in the direction of the bedroom.

“Go put some pants on.”

Billy’s hand retreats. The door shudders under someone’s fists like it’s a second away from breaking off its hinges.

“ _Steve_ ,” Dustin screeches. “We know you're in there. We can _hear_ you.”

“Jesus _Christ_ , we can hear you too,” Steve yells back. “So can people in Chicago. And probably the dead.”

He glances over his shoulder – Billy's nowhere to be found which hopefully means he's gone to find some pants and not strip naked just for the sake of scarring the kids; he might be bigger than all of them combined but he’s still a little shit – and opens the door.

The kids tumble inside along with a gust of freezing air, all yelling over each other as they sweep past Steve and into the cabin.

“Thank _god_.”

“What the _hell_ , Steve?”

“Why didn’t you _open the door_?”

“We were waiting for _ages_.”

“It’s _freezing_ out there, man.”

Steve pictures what it would be like to kick them all out. If he does it fast he can probably get ten minutes to make out with Billy some more while they’re all in shock before they regroup and try again.

“Hey, shitheads,” Billy’s voice says as he shuts the door, “Shut the fuck up.”

Every head snaps round in unison. It’s real fucking creepy, way too hive-mind for Steve’s tastes, makes him shiver right down to his bones even as the kids release a squealy chorus of _woahs_ and _no way_ s and _oh my gods_. Are they shocked because Billy’s alive or because he’s naked? Steve turns – no, Billy’s managed to find a knit sweater and the least scandalous of Steve’s sweatpants. Small miracles and all that.

Max is the only one who isn’t shell-shocked. “I don’t know why you’re all surprised,” she says as she throws herself down onto the couch. “El came back from the dead.”

“She wasn’t _dead_ ,” Mike says snidely, grabbing up El’s hand like Max is threatening to kill her right here and now. “We didn’t bury her.”

Steve flinches. Billy’s been pretty open about the whole resurrecting like Indiana’s very own Jesus thing, but he seems to be avoiding the fact that he crawled his way out of his own grave like the plague. Shuts Steve down with a sneer or distracts him with his mouth every time he brings it up, and only one of those is gonna work on Mike Wheeler.

Sure enough Billy’s lip is curling. Christ, this is gonna end in disaster. The best Steve can hope for is no murder. He should probably go hide the sharp knives.

“Who wants a drink?” he asks as he shoves the kids towards the couch. If they all have something in their hands the worst they can do is throw them at each other.

“Coffee?” Dustin says hopefully.

As if Steve’s gonna give any of them coffee. They’re hard enough to control as it is.

Dustin grumbles loudly when Steve comes back with soda and not coffee but he shuts up when Steve gives him the only can of coke. The kids have managed to shed their coats and arrange themselves on the armchairs and the floor around the trunk masquerading as a coffee table; Billy’s claimed the opposite end of the couch to Max. Steve’s only options are to sit between him and Max or wedge himself between the armchair Dustin’s sprawled over and the wood burner which is so hot it’s like standing directly next to the sun.

Shit, he can’t sit next to Billy. He’ll be too obvious; he can’t even _look_ at him without blushing, without thinking about his hands, his mouth, his dick. It feels like he’s broadcasting like a siren: _we got to third base on this couch and Max is sitting where the wet patch was_. There’s no way he can sit through whatever torture the kids about to subject them to without giving the game away.

Billy or the burner. Billy or third-degree burns. Billy or slowly roasting alive. Billy or –

Billy raises an eyebrow. Nods pointedly at the gap. Shit, _shit_ , gotta make a decision.

Steve sits. Does his best to not look like he’s a second away from just draping himself over Billy like a horny human-shaped blanket. It seems to work; when he glances around no one’s even looking at them, not even El. Maybe prolonged exposure to Billy’s hair and abs and ocean eyes is the answer to keeping his thoughts in check.

“So.” Dustin slurps at his soda. Points the can at El. “You checked him? He’s not flayed?”

“Not flayed,” El confirms.

“It’s not gonna come back though, is it?” Steve asks hesitantly. “Like, it’s gone for good?”

El shrugs. Wow, that’s not reassuring in the slightest. Just another thing to add to his laundry list of fears.

“If he’s not flayed, is he a zombie?” Lucas asks. The entire circle turns to frown at him. “What? He did come back from the dead.”

“He’s not a zombie,” Max says with a painful-looking jab of her elbow into his side.

Billy makes a disgruntled noise. “ _He_ is right here.” His eyebrows threaten imminent homicide. It’s really kinda hot; damn it if murder isn’t a good look on him.

El squints across the coffee table at Lucas. “What is a zom-bie?”

“Someone who comes back to life and tries to eat people’s brains,” Mike tells her. El just cocks her head at him, wide eyed and confused. It’d be cute if Steve didn’t know she could kill them all with her brain. 

“Are they real?”

Dustin’s got the same look he gets when Steve makes the mistake of asking him to explain something about Dungeons & Dinguses, so Steve says “No” with as much finality as possible to shut that down particular brand of torture before it can get off the ground.

Jesus, ten minutes ago he was making out and listening to baseball. How can he go back in time and slap some sense into himself before he opens the door?

There’s a pause, long enough that Steve thinks maybe that’s it and he can herd them all out the door, when Will asks, “Did someone do this to him?” He looks horrified by the idea. Not that Steve can blame him, it’s a kinda terrifying thought. “Is someone out there resurrecting people?”

Dustin scoffs. “If there is why would they choose _him_?”

“ _Hey_ ,” Billy barks. It’s pretty obvious to anyone with half a brain that he’s a second away from violence, but the kids are oblivious. None of them even look his way.

Lucas strokes his chin, all thoughtful. One day Steve’s gonna tell him that doesn’t make him look old and wise, just smug and stupid. “Does that mean all the people the Mind Flayer took over are going to come back?”

“They all turned into goo,” Max points out. “I don’t think anyone’s coming back from that.”

“ _He_ did,” Mike says.

Max sneers at him. “ _He_ wasn’t goo.”

Billy slams his soda down so hard the trunk jolts over the floorboards. Every single of one of the kids freezes.

“Listen, dipshits,” he snaps. “I’m not flayed. I’m not a zombie. I’m not fucking _goo_. I’m alive. And that – _thing_ is gone. You want her to do another sweep of my head, fine. But I’m telling you it’s gone. For good.”

All of them open their mouths to speak again and Billy growls. Steve tries his hardest not to roll his eyes but it’s a losing battle. These kids have got the self-preservation instinct of fucking lemmings.

“You wanna ask me a question,” Billy continues, “Go ahead. If you’re just gonna waste time theorising then fuck off. I got better things to do.”

From the look Billy’s giving the side of his head, Steve’s pretty sure he’s one of the better things. It’s kinda lame how warm and fuzzy that makes him feel.

“You really don’t feel any different?” Lucas asks. He still looks sceptical; they all do.

Billy rolls his eyes so hard Steve swears he can hear them squelch. “Already told you no.”

Dustin slurps again. Absolute heathen. “Will, what did you feel after you were flayed?”

Will shrinks back a little into the armchair. The look that slides across his face is haunted. “I kept falling into the Upside Down. But that stopped when we got the Mind Flayer out.” He reaches up to touch the back of his neck, eyes fixed on the table but somewhere far, far away. “All the hair on the back of my neck stands up if we’re near a demodog or the flayed. And when El uses her powers.”

Dustin’s eyes slide back to Billy. “Any of that happening to you?”

“Nope.”

“ _Bullshit_ ,” Mike barks, colder than Steve’s ever heard him. “No way it’s just magically gone. Why are you trusting him? He lied to us before. He tried to _kill_ us.”

“It wasn’t him,” Steve replies with only slightly gritted teeth. “And the Mind Flayer’s gone. You heard El.”

Mike’s glare is mutinous. “What if it’s not? What if it comes back?”

The thing is he’s not wrong. The Mind Flayer hid before, it hid and bided it’s time and then it commandeered Billy’s body to try to destroy the entire town. He’s not wrong – but he is being a dick. And if he keeps it up, Steve’s not gonna step in when he inevitably says something that pushes Billy over the edge.

“If El says it’s gone, it’s gone,” Max snaps like she can read Steve’s thoughts. “Don’t you trust her?”

“Of course I do. But it could still be hiding. Maybe it’s just deeper than before.” Max just stares at him, unimpressed. Mike’s head swivels towards El for support. “Come on, El. You don’t trust him, right? He tried to kill you.”

“He did,” El agrees, but there’s no accusation in her voice. No anger. “But he stopped.”

“But –”

“Mike,” El says in that intense way of hers that makes Steve shiver a little every time, “It’s gone. Trust me.”

“But –” Will chooses that moment kick Mike in the leg so hard his drink sloshes over his lap. “ _Hey_ , watch it.”

“Sorry,” Will says, sounding so distinctly un-sorry that Steve nearly spits soda over himself. 

“Look,” he says over Mike’s bitching, “I get that you guys are scared. But if El says the Mind Flayer’s gone then I believe it’s gone. If it comes back we’ll deal with it. And I’ll stay here with Billy just in case.”

“How selfless of you,” Billy grumbles.

It is very selfless actually. He’s protecting the kids from further attempts on their lives when they piss Billy off to the point of homicide. If it means he gets uninterrupted make out time with Billy – well that’s just a perk of the job.

“Someone’s got to keep your dumb ass out of trouble,” Steve reminds him.

“Good thing you like my ass then,” Billy mutters.

Steve ties to hold in his splutter. Knows he’s failed miserably when Billy slings an arm along the back of the couch, fingers against the hem of Steve’s shirt, creeping up the back of his neck, nails dragging over his skin. Billy’s pleased smile grows in the corner of his eye at the same rate as his blush.

In the armchair Dustin starts hacking up a lung. It’s not his _my allergies are trying to asphyxiate me_ cough so Steve’s not hugely worried – until he glances over to find Dustin staring at him pointedly.

“Everything okay, Henderson?”

“Uh. We –” Dustin flaps a hand at Lucas. “– need to talk to you. _Outside_.”

“Now?” Dustin nods, a little frantic. Jesus, the hell is wrong now? “Sure, okay, let’s go.”

Steve can feel curious eyes on his back as the three of them traipse out to the porch. It’s cold as shit outside, the chill settling into his bones, but going back in to get a coat or shoes will only drag whatever this is out even longer. He debates whether the slightly mouldy bench is gonna give out under him. Decides it’s not and sits down. He wants a cigarette so bad his fingers itch; it probably makes him a bad influence smoking in front of the kids, but they’re already bad enough influences on each other – anything he does is small fry compared to that.

“So,” Lucas starts, then stops. He glances nervously at the closed door. “You and Billy.”

“Me and Billy what?” Steve asks, already dreading the answer.

“Are you –” Dustin lowers his voice to a whisper. “Are you having _sex_ with him?”

“ _What_?” Oh Jesus, that’s what this is about. Steve prays for the sweet release of death. Any time now would be ideal. He should've just let the Mind Flayer kill him when he had the chance. “Why would you think that?”

The two of them share a look. “Because Will thinks you are,” Lucas tells him.

That little traitor.

“Will doesn’t know anything,” Steve says.

There’s a long, tell-tale pause. Shit, that wasn’t what he meant to say. These kids are total dipshits but they’re smart as hell. There’s no way they’re gonna misconstrue that. 

“That’s a yes,” Lucas says like Steve doesn’t know exactly what he’s just admitted to.

“ _Steve_.” Dustin’s eyes are as wide as dinner plates. “Seriously?”

“Did I say yes?” If Steve backtracks maybe he can claw back some of his dignity and head this off at the pass and maybe prevent Billy from burying him alive in these woods where no one will ever find him. “I didn’t say yes.”

“Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt,” Lucas says, dripping condescension.

Wow. That’s harsh. Who knew fourteen-year-olds could be such dicks?

“Steve.” Dustin’s hand is heavy on his sleeve. It’s probably meant to be comforting or something but all it does is make Steve cringe. “Steven. My man. I accept you no matter who you’re into. Girls, guys, whatever. Just please don’t be into _Billy Hargrove_.”

“That’s not very accepting of you,” Steve points out.

Dustin’s jaw drops. “So it’s true? You are?”

Steve takes a breath. Weighs it up. How badly does he want to die? He’s not suicidal but, even with things with Billy going the way they are, the potential for not waking up tomorrow if he steps wrong here is still pretty high. But if Will has guessed and he’s already told the rest of them then the cat is well and truly out of the bag now. There’s nothing Steve can do to stuff it back in.

“Yeah, I am. We are.”

“Steve,” Dustin says. It sounds like he’s on the verge of having a stroke. “ _Steve_.”

“Dustin,” Steve replies. The very thin threads of his patience are snapping one by one and he’s never punched a child before but he’s reconsidering his stance on it right about now.

Dustin sighs. Steve knows that sigh very well because it’s the preamble of every lecture Dustin’s ever given that starts with _Steve, you’re the stupidest person I’ve ever met and here are the reasons why_. This one is undoubtedly doing to be spectacular.

Luckily whatever god that’s listening saves him by sending the rest of the kids clattering out of the cabin onto the porch, Billy right behind them. Dustin and Lucas might have grown a pair since they first came up against him, but neither of them look like they want to start in on him the way they did with Steve. So instead of a lecture, Dustin just gives him a look that says he thinks Steve’s a few quarters short of a roll. Steve resists the urge to splash soda in his face.

“Time to go,” he says, already standing to shepherd Lucas and Dustin towards the rest of the kids and out of his business. “Call ahead next time you wanna come over.”

“You don’t have a phone here,” Mike says.

“If you can’t call ahead,” Billy snarls, shoving him off the steps and into the pile of leaves that’s blown up against them, “You can’t come over. So don’t fucking come over.”

Mike’s scowl, haloed by the crispy leaves in his hair, is so fucking gratifying. Steve grabs Billy’s arm and shoves him towards the door before he can leap off the porch after him.

“Be safe,” Dustin whispers with a pointed look back at Billy as he goes down the steps. “Use protection.”

Jesus, again? Steve fantasises about slapping him in the back of the head. With a shovel. He deserves a fucking medal for putting up with this shit.

“Good _bye_ , Dustin,” he calls and slams the door pointedly behind him.

When he turns around, Billy’s already in front of the wood burner, shoving more logs inside. “Fucking kids,” he mutters as he holds his hands out to warm them. Steve can see them shaking from across the room. “Can’t believe we missed the rest of the Pacers game for that.”

Steve goes to him. Plasters himself up against Billy’s back to leech a bit of heat from him. He likes the way Billy leans back into his touch, even if he does twitch when Steve’s frozen fingers creep under his sweater.

“They’re just worried about you,” he says into the back of Billy’s neck.

“Worried about themselves more like,” Billy says, but his voice isn’t bitter. “What did Tweedle Dumb and Tweedle Dumber want?”

Oh god. This is the part he’s been dreading. Is it too late to run for it?

“Um,” he says eloquently. Shit, gotta just rip the band-aid off. “They know.”

Billy turns a little in his arms so he can look at Steve over his shoulder. He’s not tense but it’s probably only a matter of time. “Know what?”

“Aboutmeandyou,” Steve says in a rush. Then, just in case passing the buck will save his skin, “Will figured it out.”

Billy blinks slowly, thoughtfully at him. “Huh. Okay.”

“ _Okay_?”

That’s it? Where’s the rage? Where’s the murder?

“They’re not wrong,” Billy says with a shrug.

They’re definitely not wrong. But there’s no way Billy’s not about to explode at having his big secret getting out.

“I thought –”

“What, that I’d be upset?” Billy snorts. Finally turns in Steve’s arms. He doesn’t actually look that mad? “I don’t give a shit if they know.”

Well, that’s a fucking surprise. “Really?”

“Nope,” Billy says, like it’s obvious. Like he’s not flipping Steve’s view of him on its head _again_. “Do you?”

Steve stares at him. “ _No_ , no, _I_ don’t care. I just –” Shit. How the hell does he say this without getting punched in the face? “You would never have done this before.” Steve waves a hand at himself, at Billy, at their whole _situation_. “You know, been with me. I think you probably would’ve punched me if you even caught me looking. And now you’re just cool with it?”

“Yeah.” Billy shrugs again. “Dying kinda puts things into perspective.”

“Billy, come on.” There’s no way that’s the whole of it.

Billy sighs. The shadow that passes over his face makes Steve feel like he’s standing on the edge of something and Billy’s creeping up behind him to shove him off. The fall is gonna be illuminating but the impact might kill him.

“Yeah, you’re right,” Billy says. “I wouldn’t’ve. Because my dad would’ve killed me.”

“Your dad?”

Billy’s blinks at him. “Didn’t Max tell you all why we came here?”

There it is again. That little secret, that little splinter that’s been festering between Billy and Max since they got to Hawkins. The deep, raw wound that makes Billy look at her sometimes like he doesn’t know who she is – and makes Max look like she’s a second away from committing harakiri to get him to stop looking at her like that.

“No.”

“Huh.” Billy actually looks surprised for a second, before he shakes it off. “My dad caught me with another guy. Or – well – Max told him I was with a guy and he came looking. Found us in the backseat of my car. He beat the shit out of me. Put me in the hospital. Said no kid of his is gonna be a fag.” He laughs but it’s cracked and bitter. “Guess he thought dragging us to the middle of fucking nowhere would cure me or something. If I was far enough from temptation. He’s been up my ass the whole time, making sure I stay in line. If he suspected I was so much as _thinking_ about a guy, they’d never have found my body.”

Well, fuck. That’s not what he expected. But it explains so much. About Billy, about Max. About the dark shadow that Neil Hargrove casts over the house Cherry Lane. God, what Billy must have gone through right up until the end – the thought hurts somewhere behind Steve’s ribs.

“But it doesn’t matter anymore,” Billy says over his dumbstruck silence. “I’m dead. He thinks I’m dead. He can’t do anything to me now.”

And what the fuck is Steve meant to say to that? Because Billy’s right, he’s so goddamned right. Neil Hargrove, Billy’s literal monster in the next room, can’t hurt him anymore. And thank fuck for that.

But just because his dad can’t hurt him, doesn’t mean other people can’t. Doesn’t mean that people knowing this about him, about them, can’t blow up in his face.

“You really don’t care?”

Billy throws his hands up in exasperation. “Why the fuck would I care, Steve? I’m happy. You’re happy. Anybody who doesn’t like it can go fuck themselves instead of worrying about the fact that we fuck each other.”

“You’re happy?” Steve asks stupidly.

God, he sounds like the world’s dumbest human. There’re probably bigger things in what Billy just said that he should be focusing on, but his brain seems to be skipping over the fact that Billy’s _happy_. Happy being with him. Happy with people knowing about them.

Billy’s face says he thinks Steve might be the stupidest thing he’s ever seen. “Yes, dipshit, I’m happy. Do I not look happy?”

Steve looks at him – really, truly looks at him. Okay, so he does look happy. More than happy. Kinda elated, kinda like he’s glowing. Like something inside him, something that’s been muzzled and beaten down for a long time, has finally broken free of its cage. It suits him, the way summer-bronzed skin and red pool shorts suit him. Steve wants him to look like that every day.

“You do,” he admits.

The grin that creeps over Billy’s face is blinding. “Yeah, I do.”

He steps forward and shoves at Steve’s shoulder. Steve’s heart jumps in his throat – Billy might look happy but the last time he pushed Steve like that it was followed up with a right hook. But he’s panicking over nothing; Billy’s just nudging him back towards the window.

“Your children gone?” he asks.

Steve peers nervously around the curtain. No children in sight. Halle-fucking-lujah. “Yeah, they’re gone.”

“Thank god.” When Steve turns Billy’s got a hand held out to him. His grin’s sliding into something more wicked. “Wanna make out some more?”

As if that’s even a question. “Hell yeah.”

He takes Billy’s outstretched hand. Lets Billy link their fingers together and pull him in close. Tilts his head back to give Billy some room as he drags his mouth up Steve’s neck.

“Wait,” he says around a groan as Billy bites at the line of his jaw in a way that makes Steve’s knees forget they’re made of more than just jelly. “Wait, Billy, I wanna – I wanna make you feel good.”

“Yeah?” Billy pulls back enough that Steve can see how dark his eyes are, just a tiny ring of blue left. “What did you have in mind?”

“Can I – I wanna –” God, why is this so hard to say? He hasn’t blushed this hard since he was twelve and Cindy Campbell gave him his first ever kiss on the playground in second grade. “I wanna finger you.”

“Do you now?”

Billy’s grinning so smugly Steve wants to punch him, but he gets a little preoccupied by the way Billy’s holding his hand up to the light and contemplating it real serious like he’s trying to decide if he _wants_ Steve to finger him.

“Yeah, okay,” he says eventually. There’s a gleam to his eyes that makes Steve shiver. “I guess we can do that.”

Steve takes his hand, lets Billy leads him back to the bedroom. Nearly trips over his own feet when Billy strips out of his shirt and shoves his sweatpants and boxers down, kicks them away. Jesus, there’s nothing quite like looking at him naked. The thick muscles of his thighs, the ladder of his abs. The way the lamp catches his fading summer tan. The dip of his spine as he lays face down on the bed with one knee bent. He looks like a painting from a history textbook, all glowing skin and perfectly curled hair.

He must spend too long staring because Billy props himself up on his elbows to glare over his shoulder.

“You waiting for an invitation or something?”

Definitely not. Not when Billy’s all laid out like that, putting himself on display just for Steve. 

Steve strips. Is it weird this is the first time they’ve been actually naked together? Not that Billy can see him with his face half-smothered by the pillow, but Steve’s still a little shy about his skinny legs, the way his stomach gone soft from no sports over the summer. Running for your life isn’t as good cardio as people probably think.

Billy huffs at him from the bed, grits out a “Hurry up, Harrington.”

Steve hurries. Shoves down the embarrassment and climbs up on the bed to get his hands and mouth on him. Up close Billy’s skin smells like soap and wood smoke and the sharp tang of sweat. Steve laps at it, tastes it. Bites down in the places it’s strongest to hear Billy’s groans. Keeps going over his neck and shoulders and spine until Billy’s hips are hitching into the mattress. Until Billy reaches back to grab his hair hard.

“Don’t be a tease, pretty boy,” he says around a groan. “Get on with it.”

Steve reaches for the tub of Vaseline Billy told him to get on his last grocery run, stashed in the top drawer of the bedside table next to an old porn magazine whose origins Steve doesn’t want to think about. Nearly drops it. Fuck, his hands need to stop shaking. He's not scared, he’s just – nervous. What if he’s bad at this? What if he can’t make Billy feel good? What if –

“Hey.” Billy’s turned his head to look at him, hair spreading like a halo over the pillow. Steve’s hesitation must be palpable because he smiles a little, pitches his voice low and gentle. “It’s just like with a girl. Just gotta get me all wet.”

Okay, Steve can do that. He scoops a little out of the tub and spreads it over his fingers, gets them slick before he touches one to the pucker of Billy’s hole. Billy’s sharp inhale echoes in the stillness.

“Yeah,” he says, “Go on, do it.”

So Steve does. Presses in slowly, carefully past the ring of muscle, feels Billy tense around his finger. It’s – weird, but not in a bad way. Tommy talked about doing with Carol, but Steve never believed him when he said how hot and tight and good it felt. Fuck, he believes him now with Billy’s body clutching at his finger. No wonder Billy was so into it when he had Steve spread out like this. All he can think about is what it’d be like to get two fingers in him, three, his dick – _fuck_.

Except Billy doesn’t seem like he’s so into it. He’s just lying there, body tense, blowing out a breath as Steve sinks his finger in further – first knuckle, second knuckle, all the way in – then pulls it out slow.

“Billy?”

The eye Steve can see blinks open from where it was squeezed shut. “Yeah?”

“What do I do?” Steve asks. He doesn’t know exactly what he’s asking, just remembers how it felt like Billy dialled into his entire nervous system with one touch. He wants that, wants to give him that electric jolt of pleasure, wants to make his toes curl.

“Like this –” Billy crooks his fingers; was that what he was doing to Steve? Sure didn’t feel like it. But when Steve tries it makes Billy groan deep in his chest and arch into his hands. “ _Shit_ , just like that.”

Steve does it again just to make sure he’s doing it right and Billy chokes out a laugh that cracks into hungry, eager sound when Steve does it again and again and again. He leans over to touch his mouth to Billy’s back, drags his teeth over the ridges of his spine, press his grin into his skin.

“Good?”

Billy nods. “So good, baby, so good to me.” He wriggles, sinuous, repositions his knee to he can push up into Steve’s hand. “Come on, I want another. Let’s see what you can do.”

Jesus, Billy sure knows how to get him going. Steve’s never been one to back down from a challenge and he’s not gonna now. He smears more Vaseline on his fingers, traces round Billy’s hole until he’s pushing back searchingly. Finally sinks them in.

Billy groans loud and low. Fuck, that’s so hot, the way his body tightens, trying to draw them in deeper. Every in-out of his fingers makes Billy tense, release. When Steve finally manages to nail that spot inside him, he makes a wounded-animal noise. Goddamn, who knew Steve’s fingers could make him sound like that?

“Knew you’d be a fucking natural,” Billy slurs. His hands are clenching and unclenching in the comforter. “Gimme another.”

“You sure?” Steve remembers how full he felt with just two; three seems like a lot.

Billy nods jerkily. His cheeks are flushed, hairline and the hollow of his back glistening with sweat. He’s so fucking beautiful it’s hard to look at him straight on.

Three is definitely a lot if Billy’s gasping is anything to go by, soft and wet and caught in his throat as Steve works his fingers in. He watches Billy’s body take them greedily. Thinks about what it’d be like to get his dick in him and nearly passes out from the blood rushing south.

“Jesus Christ,” he chokes out. Shit, his voice is wrecked and he hasn’t even got a hand on himself yet. “Fuck, Billy, look at you.”

“God, baby,” Billy replies, all breathy, fucked out of him with every shove of Steve fingers, “You feel so good. Your fingers, I swear to god. Can’t wait to get your dick in me. Gonna fill me up right.”

How the _fuck_ is he still talking? It feels like all the air’s being punched out of Steve’s lungs even time Billy clenches around him. He wants Billy to shut up – so he fucks his fingers in harder until Billy’s keening for him, high-pitched, desperate, sliding a hand awkwardly under his body, jerking off roughly in time with the push of Steve’s fingers.

“Baby,” he gasps, “Steve, baby, fuck, I’m gonna –”

One last press and Billy’s voice shatters into a moan, broken in the middle, half in the shape of Steve’s name as he comes and comes, whole body clenching hard around Steve’s fingers, shudders running up and down his spine.

When it seems like the shaking’s over, Steve slowly pulls his fingers out. Wipes them carefully on the sheet. Billy rolls to one side and stretches slowly. The flex of his muscles, golden against the dark comforter, hits Steve like a punch in the gut.

God, he’s so hard, he’s dripping all over the sheets. All he wants to drop his head to Billy’s hip and jerk off all over that skin but Billy reaches down for him. Curls a hand round the back of his neck to urge him up with a “No, here, c’mon.”

And that’s how he finds himself leaning up over Billy’s face, knees jammed into his armpits, Billy’s hands sliding round his thighs to pull him forward, Billy licking his lips as he watches Steve’s fist gripping his cock. Just the brush of his fingers over his dick is almost too much; he’s gonna blow in a heartbeat.

“Billy, I’m not gonna last –”

Billy waggles his tongue like Steve’s seen him a million times but holy shit, it hits differently when he’s doing it just for him. “Do it,” he says. “Come on me.”

Christ almighty. Steve came on Tiffany Wagner’s face once but that was more of an accident than anything like _this_. And this is – this is un-fucking-believable: the flush crawling up Billy’s throat, settling high on his cheeks; the red curve of Billy’s lips, slick with spit; Billy’s eyes staring up at him, a little dazed but so hungry.

All it takes is one stroke, two, three, and that’s it, he’s coming, all over Billy’s face and Billy just – takes it. There’s come dripping off his eyelashes, sliding down the line of his cheeks but he looks totally blissed out, eyes closed, mouth open and panting like mouth open like Steve’s just injected some good shit right into his veins.

Steve’s brain is on the fritz from coming so hard; he reaches out to touch without thinking. Smears his thumb down Billy’s cheekbone, across his lower lip. Tries not to moan when Billy sucks it into his mouth. Billy’s eyes flicker open and they’re so bright, so happy, Steve has to kiss him and – woah, _ew_ , the taste of his own come is weird. He splutters; Billy grins broadly against his mouth.

“You’re making a mess, pretty boy.”

Way to kill the mood.

Steve leans over to grabs a t-shirt. Wipes his mouth and chin before handing it to Billy. Rolls off Billy as he scrubs his face and lies down – oh gross, that’s a huge wet patch, this comforter is probably gonna have to be burnt.

“Why are you so far away?” Billy asks once he’s dropped the t-shirt onto the floor. His hand reaches out, searching for him.

Steve inches a little closer, up against Billy’s side but apparently that’s not close enough: Billy manhandles him until Steve’s draped over him, ear pressed to his chest, right over his heart. Is it creaking and groaning as much as Steve’s is? It’s hard to tell over his own roaring in his ears.

“Christ.” Billy drapes an arm over his eyes. His other hand traces a slow line up Steve’s spine. “I can’t move. Let’s stay here forever. Me, you, this bed, the lube. That’s all I need.”

Steve smiles even as his heart clenches. He wants all of it, will happily never leave this cabin ever again, but there’s a sick feeling rippling through him like he’s just inhaled a mouthful of tunnel spores. Because he can’t have that. They can’t. Billy’s a dead man walking and Steve’s maybe a little – _enamoured_ with him but that doesn’t mean this is gonna work out. He’s never read _Frankenstein_ but he’s pretty sure the doctor and the monster don’t get a happily ever after.

“Hey.” Billy tugs hard at the top of his ear, demanding. “Stop thinking so loud.”

Shit, is he that obvious? “Sorry.”

“S’not good for you.” The fingers turn softer, gentling through his hair. “What’re you thinking about?”

Steve presses his face harder against Billy’s chest. Maybe if he presses hard enough it’ll open up and swallow him whole.

“Nothing much.”

He’s thinking that he should’ve learnt by now to not get his hopes up when the world has proved over and over that it’s just going to rip them away from him when they get too high.

He’s thinking he’d trade everything he has for another day, another week, another month of these quiet moments where he can wrap himself up in this new Billy.

He’s thinking he might remember this forever. The flat, hot hand of the sun on the back of his neck. Listening to the heady thrum of blood moving through Billy’s veins. Billy’s hair like gold in the sunlight.


	7. Chapter 7

He’s dreaming. He knows he’s dreaming because it’s summer and he’s at the pool, stretched out on the lounger like he’s Karen fucking Wheeler with the sun baking him to a crisp. He knows he’s dreaming because there’s no one else around except for Billy – Billy in the tiniest red shorts, whistle round his neck, flipflops flapping against his feet as he stalks round the edge of the pool towards him. He casts a cool shadow over Steve’s chest for a second before he drops to his knees by Steve’s hip and sets his tongue to the sweat trickling down his ribs. _Holy mother of god_ – Steve grips the arms of the lounger so hard they creak as that beautiful, sinful, wonderful tongue slides up to his sternum, swirls round his navel, slides down his happy trail.

And Billy’s just getting to the good part, fingers in his waistband, pulling his swim shorts down so that his tongue can get a taste – and of course that’s when a scream echoes in his ear Steve so hard he trips right out of his brilliant, amazing, so-good-thank-you-brain dream and into the cabin.

It's dark. Silent. Still. All Steve can hear is his own heart going a mile a minute in his ears. What the fuck was that noise?

He lies as still as he can, listening. Still nothing. No rustling, no chittering, definitely no screaming. He can’t see shit, just never-ending blackness. What if there’s a demodog crouched right there in the darkness, waiting? Fuck, he hates being blind like this.

With careful fingers he feels out the room: there’s the edge of the bed, there’s Billy, tucked between him and the wall, there’s –

There’s Billy’s back, muscles wound tight and tense, shuddering like he’s trying to keep still as possible but can’t quite keep it under control.

Well shit. Steve’s not good at math but he can do basic addition. Shaking body plus screaming in the middle of the night equals a real bad nightmare.

“Billy?”

No answer. Maybe he’s imagining it. Maybe Billy’s asleep and maybe he’s just cold and maybe there’s nothing wrong at all other than that Steve will never get to find out where that dream was gonna end up.

Except then Billy shifts. Rolls over onto his back. “Sorry,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

It sounds like he’s been gargling gravel. Probably definitely a nightmare then.

“You okay?”

“M’fine,” Billy says, voice fading as he rolls back to the wall. The covers rustle as he pulls them up to his chin. “Just a dream.”

Yeah, right. “Some dream.”

“I said I was sorry,” Billy bites out. He probably means to sound pissed or something but it mostly sounds like he’s trying not to cry. Fuck, that was not Steve’s intention. “Won’t happen again.”

“No, hey, it’s fine, I don’t mind.” Steve gropes around until he finds Billy’s back. Slides his up over his shoulder and squeezes. “Just – do you wanna talk about it?

Billy jerks, shrugs his hand off. “Go the fuck to sleep.”

Oh hell no. Steve’s not a shrink but he knows bottling that shit up only makes things worse. If he hadn’t talked about the junkyard and the tunnels and the basement and the mall with someone, anyone – preferably Nancy or Robin; maybe Dustin; maybe Jonathan; hell, maybe even Mike fucking Wheeler – he’d have been carted off to the loony bin by now. He leans over to turn on the lamp.

Billy throws an arm up as he turns over again. Squints up at Steve with a look on his face that says he’s gonna strangle him with the lamp cord if he doesn’t turn it off and fast.

“The fuck are you doing, Harrington?”

Great question; what the fuck is he doing? This isn’t Robin, this isn’t Dustin – this is Billy fucking Hargrove, the guy who’s been known to beat people up for just breathing wrong. And Steve’s trying to make him talk about his _feelings_. No way this could go wrong at all.

“Come on,” he says, “Talk to me.”

Billy’s lip curls. Steve can see that cornered-animal edge on every line of his body. He’s probably gonna get bitten here and not in a good way.

“It. Was just. A dream,” Billy says. His voice is so cold it’s like being dunked in Lovers’ Lake in the middle of winter. “What part of that do you not get?”

Of course it wasn’t gonna be easy. Billy’s a thousand-piece puzzle with no picture and half the pieces missing. He’s a no man’s land studded with landmines, and there’s no clear map of where they all are or instructions on how to defuse them. And maybe if he had the luxury of time or the benefit of a psychology degree, Steve’d take the time to try to unpick all the knots Billy’s twisted himself in. But it’s the middle of the night and Billy looks like he’s ready to shatter so the best he can manage right now is to just bulldoze through the four-foot-thick concrete walls Billy’s built around himself.

“I have nightmares too,” he says.

Billy’s face goes stony, which is a dead giveaway that Steve’s hit it right on the money. “Wasn’t a fucking nightmare,” he snaps.

Steve waves a hand at him. “Nightmare, dream, whatever. I get them too.”

Billy swallows once, twice. Steve can’t tell if he’s gonna start yelling or start punching or both. But no, he’s just trying to find the right words.

“What do you have to be scared of?” he asks.

Flickering Christmas lights. A face opening up like a flower. The dank, dark smell of earth. Teeth on teeth on teeth. _You_.

“You haven’t seen a demodog yet.”

“A _what_?”

Oh right, Billy’s never seen one. Lucky bastard.

“Looks like a dog and a lizard got it on. Lots of teeth.” God, that’s the understatement of the year. “You’ll know it when you see it.”

Billy shudders. “That sounds fucking horrible.”

“That’s ’cause it is.” And don’t even get him started on the Demogorgon. “I don’t dream about them so much anymore thought. Now it’s mostly the Russians.”

Billy’s brows knit together in a frown; Steve wants to put his thumb to it to smooth it away. “What Russians?”

They’ve rehashed most of the things that happened that night at the mall and the lead up to it, but Steve’s entire brain always shies away from that basement, florescent lights, the feel of a fist against his face and a needle in his arm, Robin laughing and crying and screaming. The thought of just how close they came to dying again.

“They opened the gate under the mall,” Steve says, even though it feels like he’s cracking open a box he might not be able to close. “Me and Robin got – captured, I guess. They thought we were spies. It was – it was pretty bad.”

“You were all beat up,” Billy says carefully, like he’s trying to feel out the memory of Steve’s face. “I thought I –”

“No, that wasn’t your fault.” Luckily – Steve might have survived the Russians but he definitely wouldn’t have survived Billy and his parasite.

Billy tries to smile but it’s barely more than gritted teeth. “At least something wasn’t.”

Not this again. “You know it wasn’t –”

“Wasn’t me?” A laughs crawls out of Billy’s throat; it sounds like he’s choking on stones. “You keep saying that, Steve, but it was. It was in _me_. It used _me_. My body. My hands. I knocked those people out and put them in my trunk and fed them to that – that _thing_. I did it. Me.” His face crumples a little, breath shuddering on the exhale. “That’s what I dream about. Their faces. Their screams.”

His eyes are slick with tears and – fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he’s gonna cry and Steve’s just lying here, mouth flapping like a fish, speechless. He couldn’t be more useless if he tried.

“I tried to stop it, you know,” Billy continues. And then when Steve _finally_ finds his voice to interrupt, “No, listen. I tried. I knew it was gonna use me to kill everyone. So I tried to – to stop me.”

It feels he’s sucker-punched Steve right in the gut. “Jesus, Billy, you didn’t –”

But Billy’s not done: “Yeah, I did,” he says. “I drank chlorine at the pool. I tried to drive into the quarry. I put my dad’s gun in my –” His voice cracks, shatters. “It stopped me every time. I wasn’t strong enough.”

Christ, what the hell is Steve meant to say to that? Like he didn’t go through enough shit with Neil, now he’s got to live with this guilt he shouldn’t have to carry eating him up like acid. There’s literally nothing he can say that’ll make this better, that’ll take away the broken expression on Billy’s face.

He slides closer, cups Billy’s face as gently as he can manage. Wipes away the tears that are escaping down his cheeks. Presses soft kisses to the corner of Billy’s mouth.

“You were strong enough,” he says even though the words are a fucking inadequate substitution for what he really wants to say. “You stopped it in the end.”

“Not soon enough,” Billy says. He can’t meet Steve’s eyes. “I killed a lot of people.”

“It wasn’t you.” Billy scoffs, finally looks up and gives Steve a look that says he’s a complete fucking moron. “Don’t look at me like that. It wasn’t. I’m gonna keep saying it. I’ll say it as many times as I need to. It wasn’t _you_.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Billy snarls, “Just shut the fuck up,” and he pushes his way into Steve space to smash their mouths together. Sinks his teeth into Steve’s lip until copper blooms on his tongue. It’s rough and raw and wrong, so Steve holds him still. Turns it gentle. Makes lazy passes with his tongue until Billy stops trying to tear Steve’s mouth apart with his teeth and the tension leaks out of his shoulders.

When they break apart, Steve stays where he is, all up in Billy’s face, hand curled possessively around the back of his neck. It’s probably safe; Billy can’t really punch him from this close if he decides he’s really had enough of Steve being all touchy-feely.

But Billy doesn’t seem to care that much, just turns his face into the pillow and takes slow, deep breaths.

“Is it always like this?” he asks quietly.

“No.” Billy’s eyebrows reads as sceptical, not that Steve can really blame him. All the evidence to date kinda says otherwise. “I’m not saying it’s sunshine and puppies and rainbows, but it’s not always like this.”

Yeah, sometimes it sucks. Sometimes it hurts. Sometimes people die. But sometimes it’s easier. Sometimes it’s spending eight hours at a crappy minimum-wage job with your best friend trying to keep teenagers out of the X-rated section. Sometimes it’s putting on a suit and doing your hair and going to the school dance. Sometimes it’s ordering pizza and having a beer and making fun of how scary movies get it all wrong.

Sometimes you can forget. Sometimes you can forget enough to feel normal.

The corner of Billy’s mouth twitches. “Wouldn’t hurt to have some puppies once in a while.”

“I can probably make that happen.” So long as Dustin doesn’t try to get involved; no one needs another monster that wants to eat them all as a pet.

“Yeah?”

Billy’s smile is so soft and hopeful Steve has to kiss him, slow and sloppy. Over and over until Billy’s relaxed, until Steve can tip him onto his back nice and easy. He only stops to lick his hand and slide it down into Billy’s shorts, wrap it around his dick.

It’s not the best angle but Billy doesn’t seem to care if his groan’s anything to go by. His hand shoots out, latches onto Steve’s top.

“Fuck, Steve –”

“Yeah,” Steve says. Sets his mouth to the dip between Billy’s collarbones. Sucks marks up his throat. “I’ve got you.”

Billy squirms under him as Steve coaxes him to hardness. It’s like the first time but slower, hotter, _better_. Because this time he can see Billy’s face, his reactions, and thank god he turned the light on or he’d be missing out on all this: Billy’s mouth dropping open, his head dropping back. The way his spine curves as he tries to push into Steve’s fist. How his chest heaves in time with the jerk of Steve’s hand.

“You’re so beautiful.” Steve presses kisses to the corner of his mouth. Up the line of his cheek. Over his forehead, his eyebrows, his eyelashes. “Don’t think I’ll ever get tired of looking at you. The things you do to me – _god_ , Billy, you have no fucking idea.”

He doesn’t know where the words are coming from – maybe he’s somehow stolen Billy’s motormouth with all that kissing – but he likes the desperate pitch to Billy’s breathing. Likes how it gets Billy panting, whining, every noise punched out of him like Steve’s breaking him into pieces.

“What do you need?” Steve asks into his temple. “Tell me, c’mon.”

Billy blinks at him slow, eyes hazy and real, _real_ dark. This close Steve can count all his stupidly long eyelashes, one by one. He looks drugged, like he’s high out of his mind on nothing more than Steve’s hand on his dick and Steve’s mouth on his skin.

“You,” he slurs and it sounds like the words are being dragged from somewhere deep in him. Holy shit, Steve might actually have broken him. “ _Steve_. Just you.”

That might be the best thing he’s heard in years. It’s not something he even knew he wanted to hear but goddamn if it isn’t music to his fucking ears, if it doesn’t make him feel like he’s on cloud nine.

“You got me,” he tells him. “M’gonna take care of you.”

He speeds his hand up. Feels the tension in Billy’s body ratchet up as he tosses his head, bucking into Steve’s hand. Jesus fucking Christ, he’s so pretty like this, all his words and bravado stripped away, nothing more than pleasure-seeking animal instinct. Steve’ll take being woken up in the middle of the night all the time if he gets Billy like this.

“You’re doing so well for me,” he says when Billy whines for him, low and desperate. “You’re so good for me. Just a little more.”

Billy’s hand clenches and unclenches in the fabric of Steve’s top. “Baby,” he breathes, “Baby, _please_.”

Fuck, it’s so good to hear him beg. Steve drags his teeth along Billy’s jaw, whispers “Good boy,” right into his ear and watches Billy fall apart.

He kisses Billy’s gasping mouth to gentle him down from his high. Slowly works his hand out of Billy’s shorts when the shaking finally stops. There’s come dripping from his fingers, splashed up his wrist, and Steve wipes it as far down on the comforter as he can reach. Gross. They’re definitely burning that tomorrow, there’s really no saving it at this point.

The hand tangled in Steve’s top starts to slide down his sternum. Steve catches it before it can go any further.

“It’s okay,” he says into the kiss.

Yeah, he’s hard – but it’s not _urgent_ , he doesn’t need to get off. Not when Billy’s mouth is getting slacker with every pass of Steve’s lips, his eyes are already flickering closed.

Billy struggles a little against his grip, says “Lemme,” but it’s slurred and sleepy in Steve’s mouth. Steve kisses him a little more and then a little more after that and then Billy’s asleep, head falling towards the pillow, body so boneless it’s trying to become one with the bed.

Steve clicks off the light. Throws an arm over Billy’s stomach and burrows in close. Puts his nose to the hollow behind Billy’s ear and breathes him in, sleep and sweat and smoke, until he’s dizzy. Yeah, he’s huffing Billy like glue, but so what? Steve likes the way he smells. Plus Billy’s too deep asleep to call him out on it, he might never get another chance like this.

It’s easy to fall asleep like that, surrounded by Billy’s scent, Billy’s hair trying to crawl up his nose, his arm looped around Billy’s waist like an anchor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I spent half as much time on my actual job as I do on writing this I'd probably be a millionaire by now


	8. Chapter 8

The squirrels declare war at ass o’clock on Monday morning by dropping what sounds like a bomb on the roof and then tapdancing across it.

“I’m gonna hunt those little fuckers down,” Billy says into the pillow, “And kill every last one of them.”

It’d be more threatening if he wasn’t all bleary-eyed and sleep-rumpled. And to be fair to the squirrels, they probably deserve it for all the times those poor little furry assholes have seen them naked or had to listen to them getting it on in the last week.

Billy doesn’t hunt any of them down. Just rolls out of bed with a kiss on Steve’s cheek, throws on a hoody and goes to brush his teeth. Steve stumbles to the kitchen for coffee. Watches the squirrels bouncing around on the ground outside. Wonders if poisoning them is against the law. Although he should probably thank them for this sickeningly domestic scenario they’ve created where can Steve make coffee while Billy brushes his teeth like they’re some normal couple in a normal place living normal lives.

By the time Steve’s managed to boil the water, Billy’s out the bathroom. He pauses on his way to the kitchen, pulls back to the curtain to peer out the window.

“Max is here,” he says. “And some chick.”

Steve goes to look. Sure enough there’s Max and some chick who’s head-first in the backseat of the car, trying to get something out. Then the chick stands up and looks straight at him creeping on her from the window.

“ _Robin_?”

Billy’s face shutters. Jesus, didn’t Steve _just_ tell him he’s pretty much gone for him? He could’ve sworn those words came out of his mouth. Maybe all the sex is killing Billy’s brain-cells.

He slips his arm around Billy’s waist. Kisses him high on his cheek. Says, “Only one for me, remember?” against his mouth.

Billy crowds him against the wall by the window. Pins him in place with hands and hips. Says “I better fucking be,” right into his skin before he bites a hickey high on Steve’s neck where he definitely won’t be able to hide it. What a dick.

The knock at the door echoes through the cabin. “Hey, dinguses,” Robin’s voice says, “Rise and shine.”

“Don’t open it,” Billy whispers.

If only. As much as Steve’d love to stay right here with Billy’s body pressing him so hard into the wall he’s in danger of becoming one with it, Robin’s worse than all the kids combined. She’ll kick the door in if they leave her out there much longer.

He shoves his way out of Billy’s grip. Swings open the door to find Robin’s on the doorstep with an unimpressed look on her face, carrying what looks like a dish of something that looks thirty percent pasta, seventy percent cheese and smells one hundred percent fishy.

“What’s that?” Steve asks.

“Tuna noodle casserole,” Robin says with a grimace. “Mom made it for you. She thinks if I feed you enough you’ll fall madly in love with me and I’ll magically stop being into girls.”

Steve snorts. “It’d probably help if she could actually cook.” He suddenly realises Billy’s right behind him, practically plastered against his back in a way that goes way beyond just happened to be standing here to clearly staking a claim. “Oh, uh. This is Billy.”

“Hey, I’m Robin.” She holds a hand out to shake; Billy just stares at it like she’s trying to hand him a pile of dog shit. “We had AP calculus together.”

Billy’s jaw works, radiating dislike so visibly it makes Steve’s a little nervous. Billy wouldn’t punch a girl, would he? “I remember,” he says coldly.

Oh god, this is gonna be even worse than with all the kids. Hiding the knives isn’t gonna be nowhere near enough; Billy’ll try to drown Robin face-first in the casserole and Robin’s scrappy enough that she’ll break the glass dish it’s in and stab him with a shard. There are hospital visits in everyone’s immediate future.

“Get in here,” Steve says, sending up a prayer to whatever higher power that might be listening that everyone will walk out of here in one piece. “It’s fucking freezing.”

Nobody moves except Max, who sets the box she’s carrying down on the porch, eyes flicking nervously between Billy and Steve. The look on her face probably means trouble.

“Can I talk to you first?” she asks, eyes fixing on Steve.

Never in his life has that sentence ever come before anything good. “Yeah, of course.”

Except leaving Robin alone with Billy isn’t the best idea. He’s not exactly easy to manage even when he hasn’t got an irrational hatred of someone. As first rodeos go, this one’s a doozy.

“Don’t worry, dingus,” Robin says, reading his mind as fucking usual. “I can handle him.”

Billy gives her a withering look that would make a lesser person cry. Robin just winks at him as she sashays past with her cheese concoction. Yeah, she'll be fine. 

Steve waits until the door’s firmly shut behind them before he turns back to Max. “Everything okay?”

Her eyes flick from the door to Steve’s face, down to the sore spot on his neck. The blush colouring her cheeks would make tomatoes jealous.

“Will said you guys are – are –”

Oh shit, not this again.

“Yeah, we are.” At least Max isn’t gonna give him the judgy third degree that Dustin and Lucas did. “Are you okay with that?”

Max blinks at him. “Yeah. I mean – yeah. Why would _I_ care?”

“He told me about California.” Max freezes, a deer caught in a hunter’s scope. “It’s okay. I get why you didn’t want to tell anyone.”

Max sniffles. She looks so small and scared it stabs him right in the gut. Sometimes it’s easy to forget she’s just a girl and not a person-sized tornado.

“It was my fault,” she whispers. “I told Neil where he was. Who he was with. I didn’t care about the guy, I just – I wanted Neil to get off my back and I thought if he went looking for Billy –”

Steve can finish that thought. It would get Neil and his temper and his fists away from her. It would keep her safe – even if it put Billy in harm’s way.

“Max, it’s okay.”

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.” She swipes at her nose with the sleeve of her coat. “If I hadn’t we’d never have come here and he’d never have got hurt.”

“If you hadn’t you wouldn’t be here,” Steve reminds her. “ _He_ wouldn’t be here. So I’m glad you did.”

Max looks kinda stunned, which is ridiculous. Yeah, the whole Mind Flayer thing sucked and yeah, Billy died, but Steve wouldn’t change it. Having her here has made the kids into better people. Having Billy here has changed Steve’s _life_.

“You two are really… you know?” Max asks again. When Steve nods, she gives him a really confused look. “Are you sure you wanna do that? You know he’s an asshole, right?”

 _Ha_. That’s an understatement. Billy’s the biggest asshole Steve’s ever met by a mile.

“You think I don’t know that?”

The smile that slides onto Max’s face is lopsided, a little wry. “Yeah, I guess you do. I just – I don’t want you to get hurt.”

It’s kinda sweet that she’s worried about him – but also really fucking rude considering she’s seen him take down monsters more than once. Although she did have to save his sorry ass that time – not that Steve’s ever gonna bring that up if he wants to keep his pride intact.

“I won’t.“

Max is grinning properly now. “You better not. I don’t have any more tranquilizers to stab him with.” She picks up the box again, gives the door a kick to open it. Looks back at him over her shoulder. “And Steve? If _you_ hurt _him_ , I’ll get El to open a gate and I’ll push you through it.”

Steve stares after her. Holy shit, that’s a terrifying thought. He wasn’t expecting a shovel talk today but damn, if it wasn’t an effective one.

In the cabin Robin’s dumped her coat on the floor and is in the kitchen trying to fit the casserole into the thing that’s barely passing for a refrigerator. Billy’s sprawled out on the couch like he owns the place, arms folded over his chest and feet kicked up onto the coffee-table-trunk. Today’s pair of Steve’s shorts are way too small for him, hugging his thighs far tighter than is acceptable in polite company. Any tighter and everyone’ll be able to see his dick. Steve kinda wants to shoulder between Billy’s knees to stretch the fabric out, maybe drag his mouth over it until Billy’s hard against his lips, Max and Robin be damned.

Jesus, he’s become a pervert. It’s kinda disgusting. Someone should lock him up. But at least his ability to give a shit has gone out the window along with all his inhibitions.

Max knocks Billy’s feet off the trunk. Drops the box in her arms with a thud. “I brought some of your stuff,” she says. “Didn't want Neil to throw it all out.”

Billy shoves his hand into the box. Immediately pulls it out again with a baggie clutched tight in his fingers. “You kept my weed?”

Max pulls a face that very clearly says she kept the weed for herself and forgot it was in there. 

Billy keeps digging; his face softens at whatever he finds next. Slowly, slowly he drags up a familiar chain and medallion that glints in the light. Max flashes him a lopsided smile as she shrugs out of her coat.

“I figured you’d want it back. You know, ‘cause it was your mom’s.”

“Thanks.” If Steve didn’t know any better he’d think Billy’s eyes were a little shiny. “This is – thanks, Max.”

“Huh,” Robin says from the kitchen. And yeah, Steve gets it. Up until four days ago he didn’t know how to handle a Billy who’s doing anything other than hulking out and trying to kill them either.

Oh, wait, she’s talking to the refrigerator.

“Not that it isn’t nice to see you,” Steve calls to her, “But what are you doing here? I’m gonna see you at work later.”

Robin gives up playing Tetris with the refrigerator and comes back to the living room. “Well,” she says as she drops into an armchair, “Me and Max were talking. About all this. And we decided we need a plan.”

Steve doesn’t know if he should be more concerned that the two of them apparently talk regularly enough to organise coming out here to ambush them, or that they want to stick their noses into Steve’s own plans to turn him and Billy into Hawkins’ newest hermits.

“What kind of plan?” he asks cautiously.

“Billy can’t stay here,” Robin says. “It’s too exposed. Anyone could find him.”

“No one found El,” Steve reminds her. “She was out here with Hopper for, like, two years.”

“El went stir-crazy and ran off to Chicago,” Max points out, which – yeah, that is kinda true. Clearly the cabin wasn’t all that great for her. “Billy will too. He can’t stay here forever.”

It’s stupid that the words feel like someone’s trying to carve Steve’s chest open with a rusty spoon. It’s not like he thought Billy could stay here with him forever, not really, but up until this very moment there was always a slim possibility that was sustaining his vivid daydreams of waking up next to Billy and kissing him stupid and having mind-blowing sex every day for the rest of his life.

Billy’s oblivious to Steve’s heart shattering into a thousand tiny pieces next to him. “So I’ll go somewhere else,” he says. “I’m only dead in Hawkins.”

Robin flashes the whites of her eyes at him. One day she’s gonna eye-roll herself into the Upside Down. “The government’s got you down as dead, dipshit. You can’t get a job. You can’t rent an apartment. You can’t even buy a car.”

“Whatever,” Billy sneers. “I’ll figure it out.”

Except he’s not gonna be able to figure it out, because Billy’s first instinct is always to take punch his way out of a problem and that’s definitely not gonna work here. But maybe Steve can figure it out, if the tiny threads of thought stitching themselves together in his head are anything to go by. They’re slowly, tenuously forming into something that might not end in any kind of death or disaster if they play their cards right. It could maybe even be something good, something good for Billy – even if it’s gonna suck for Steve.

“I have an idea,” he says.

Robin’s eyebrows slide up. “You have an idea.”

Okay, yeah, she has a right to say it like that, all sceptical and disbelieving. Most of the time his ideas are the gold-medal-for-trying, very last resort variety. But Billy’s a literal dead man walking; if they’re not at the last resort Steve really can’t imagine how much further they’re gonna have to go to get there.

“Just hear me out,” he says. “We should go to Murray.”

“Murray Bauman?” Max sounds a second away from laughing. “That nutjob?”

Everyone’s looking at him like he’s crazy, which – yeah, he knows how it sounds, there’s no denying Murray is a nutjob, but he’s a _useful_ nutjob who knows everything about their situation and probably won’t bat an eye at Billy coming back from the dead.

“Yeah, him. He’s got connections, right? He knows people. So maybe he could –”

“Hook us up,” Robin finishes. She’s got that familiar look, like she’s picking up what he’s putting down. Thank god for best friends. “But it would cost a lot –”

“I’ve got the cash –”

“He’d need an ID –”

“And the rest –”

“It could work.” Robin grins, brighter than Steve’s seen in a while. “Shit, dingus, that actually could work.”

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Billy asks. He’s looking between them like he isn’t sure whether to slap them or run away screaming.

“Murray Bauman. He’s this journalist. Or – an investigator, I guess?” Or something. Steve’s never really been clear on the details, mostly because talking to Murray is like getting shouted at through a megaphone by a late-night talk radio host and Steve’s got better things to do than subject his eardrums to that. “He’s got loads of contacts. In the government and shit. He probably knows someone who can get you an ID –”

“And a birth certificate and a social security number,” Robin chips in. “And then you won’t have to be dead anymore.”

“That's stupid,” Billy and Max say in unison. They’re both looking at him like he’s suggesting they try to take on the Demogorgon with only pop rocks and Coke.

“Fuck you guys,” Steve says. He’s not exactly a grade-A genius but all things considered it’s not the worst idea he’s ever had. “I don’t hear you coming up with a better plan.”

Billy rolls his eyes. “Even if he can make that happen, what’s the point? It won’t matter what my ID says – people in Hawkins know who I am.”

“You don’t have to stay in Hawkins,” Steve tells him. “You could go anywhere you want. Indy or Chicago or –” Oh god, just saying the words out loud makes him want to cut his tongue out. “– or back to California.”

Billy’s lip curls in a sneer. “You want me out of your hair, Harrington, just say the word.”

“That’s, like. The opposite of what I want.”

“What?” Billy says, right over the top of Robin’s shocked, “ _Steve_.”

Shit. He didn’t mean to say that. But at least he didn’t say something really fucking stupid like _please don’t leave me_ or _I love you_ because there’s no way that wouldn’t end in anything other than his death at the hands of Billy’s indifference. Maybe if he backtracks he can save himself?

“Uh. I mean –” But it’s too late to take it back; Billy’s already on his feet, something stunned and scared on his face. “Billy, wait –”

But Billy’s already at the front door, swinging it open and blasting them all with icy air. Then he’s gone and the door bangs behind him like a gunshot.

Wow, he really fucked that one up. Maybe he should’ve let Billy kill him when he had the chance. It’s no more than he deserves for being such a fucking _idiot_.

“Let me talk to him,” Max says, pushing to her feet. As she passes Steve, she pats him on the shoulder in a way that’s probably meant to be sympathetic but just feels pitying.

“You okay?” Robin asks once Max has closed the door behind her. Her tone that says she doesn’t know if she should be hugging him or laughing at him.

“I don’t know.”

Robin gives him an unimpressed look. And yeah, he kinda deserves that, he did almost just rip his heart out and present it to Billy on a platter.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Not really. If only because he’s dug a deep enough hole already and the moment he opens his mouth Billy’s likely to come back in and bury him alive in it.

But Robin’s doing her _I’m actually listening not just judging_ head tilt and he’s probably going to have to explain himself to Billy at some point so he should really just try out his reasoning for being the stupidest person alive on her first.

“I don’t want him to go,” Steve tells her. “I mean, I do, I know he can’t stay in this cabin forever. But this… thing with us – it’s good. I’m not ready for it to be over, you know?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Robin says, which means Steve’s definitely gonna take it the wrong way, “But this isn’t a Romeo and Juliet situation. You barely know him. It’s not like he’s Tammy and you’ve had a crush on him forever.”

Maybe not forever. But definitely a while. Probably since Billy first rolled into Hawkins really. He was just too dumb to understand exactly why he couldn’t stop staring at Billy in his too-tight jeans. Why he let Billy bully him around the basketball court with his body pressed up against Steve’s. Why he hadn’t been as pissed as he probably should’ve been at Billy for beating his face in because Steve’d finally got to touch his fingers to the blood-hot skin of Billy’s chest.

And then there was the summer. Billy stripping his shirt off nice and slow for the benefit of every Hawkins mom and probably a few of the dads. Billy slurping on popsicles like he couldn’t get enough of the taste, licking up streaks of melted ice from his fingers and wrist. Billy levering himself out of the pool with his hair all wet and the water running down his chest and his trunks plastered tight to his body and –

“Robin,” Steve says carefully, “Why do you think I went to the pool so much this summer?”

Robin chews that over for a moment. “You dingus,” she says finally, and somehow those two words manage to convey encyclopaedias of exasperation and maybe a dictionary or two of amusement. “Really? All summer?”

“You haven’t seen his abs.”

“I have and they’re not all that great,” Robin says which is total slander. Billy’s abs are fucking _incredible_. And incredibly fucking lickable. “You really like him, huh?”

“Yeah.” Stupid amounts. It’s actually kinda nauseating. “And I know he probably doesn’t feel the same, but I want him to have something good from this, you know? I can give him that.”

Robin hums like she’s thinking it over, not like she’s trying to find the words to tell Steve he’s a moron. “I still think he’s kind of a dick,” she says eventually.

Yeah, Steve can see why she’d think that. Billy’s always been impulsive, unpredictable, burns hot and cold and bright and dark. Has always had a mean streak a mile wide, lives by burnt bridges and scorched earth. But whatever that fire was that fuelled all his rage and violence, it seems to have just – gone out. Yeah, he’s still prickly and standoffish and ten kinds of difficult, but sometimes he’s sweet. Funny. Genuine and caring and really fucking cute. Maybe Steve should think about getting some sticky gold stars to so that they can work on positive reinforcement, get that _sometimes_ up to an _often_. 

“He’s not a dick all the time,” he says.

Robin snorts. “That’s not exactly reassuring.” She twists a strand of hair round and round and round her finger until it starts to go purple. “I guess he’s better than Princess Wheeler. At least I know where I stand with him.”

Steve’s not gonna point out that she definitely doesn’t know where she stands with him. She’s chalking all of Billy’s evil-eyes and cold-shouldering up to him just being a general asshole, not that he’s low-key expecting Steve to leave him for her.

“I’m gonna tell Nancy you said that,” he says instead.

Robin’s glare could level mountains. “Please don’t.”

The front door creaks open and Max and Billy slink back in. Steve doesn’t know what Max has said but it must have been something monumental because Billy throws himself back onto the couch with a “Fine. Let’s do it. If no one’s got any better ideas.”

Really? Just like that? No kicking and screaming? No attempted murder? Maybe Max tranquilised him again; it’s really the only explanation.

“Great,” Robin chirps before Steve can put his foot in his mouth again. “I’ll call Murray. Set it all up.” She glances down at her watch, a striped Swatch that reminds Steve of the Scoops Ahoy uniform, then back at Max. “We should get going. You’ll be late for school.”

There’s a rush of movement as Max and Robin wrap themselves up again in scarves and coats. Steve pointedly steers Robin away while Max and Billy hug it out. Whatever she said outside must’ve been deep because they hold onto each other – cling really, not that he’d say it out loud – for a really long time.

“Hey, Buckley,” Billy says gruffly as Steve opens the door to let them out. He glances back to check Billy’s not winding up for a swing – no, just standing there with his hands shoved in the pockets of his hoodie looking kinda sheepish. “Thanks.”

Whether he means for taking Max to school or for helping with the plan or just generally being an amazing person, Steve’s not sure. Robin doesn’t look sure either, but her smile seems genuine enough.

“No problem, Hargrove,” she says.

Then they’re gone, the car vanishing between the trees, and Steve’s all alone with Billy and the grave he’s dug for himself.

They stand in the living room, staring at each other, Mexican stand-off style as the roar of the car engine fades into the distance. Billy’s staring at him all intently, the kind of look Steve’s seen bears get on nature shows right before they rip into their prey, and then he opens his mouth and Steve tenses, because whatever’s going to come out if probably going to kill him. Most likely maim him. Maybe kneecap him at best.

“You wanna fuck me?” Billy asks.

Well that’s not what Steve was expecting. But the words still take him out at the knees; he sits down hard on the couch. Hell yeah he does – but ten minutes ago Billy was storming out of the room like he couldn’t get away from Steve and his big mouth fast enough.

“We should talk first. About what I said.”

Billy’s nostrils flare. “I don’t wanna talk.” A condom sails through the air, drops into Steve’s lap. Where the hell did Billy pull that from? “You wanna fuck me or not?”

There’s literally nothing in the world he’d rather do. Maybe he’s some kind of idiot to be passing up Billy sitting on his dick for spilling his guts all over the floor, but he can’t just let all the things trying to crawl out his mouth go unsaid.

“Billy, I mean it. We should talk.”

“Later, okay?” Billy’s stalking closer, something predatory gleaming in his eyes. He’s gonna eat Steve alive if he lets him. “Right now I want you inside me.”

Fuck, he knows exactly what to say to make Steve’s brain jump the rails – but there’s something fragile and tense in Billy’s jaw that eats at him like acid.

“Not later. _Now_.”

A growl rips out of Billy’s throat. “No,” he says, low and angry and Steve shouldn’t get turned on by the possibility of imminent death but he’s never been very good at self-preservation, “ _Later_.”

For fuck’s sake. Why does Steve always go for the most stubborn, single-minded people? First Nancy, now this.

“ _Billy_.”

“ _Harrington_.”

Steve recognises that tone. That’s the final warning, _I’m gonna fuck you up if you don’t shut up_ tone. If Billy actually beats him to a pulp this time, no one can say he didn’t give Steve a heads up what was gonna happen if he opened his dumb mouth.

And yet – he can’t stop himself, the words are just forcing their way out.

“I don’t want you to go. Obviously.” Billy freezes; his mouth opens like he’s gonna say something probably mean and snide and Steve doesn’t want to hear it, not yet, so he just barrels straight on. “But I want you to have a life. You know, go to college and have a career and meet someone and fall in love and be happy. I want that for you. But you can’t do any of that here.”

Billy’s doing a really good impression of a goldfish, lips opening and closing like he’s trying to figure out what to say but Steve’s confession has sucked all the words out of his mouth. It’s kinda amazing to see him speechless. Satisfying too; really fucking satisfying.

Eventually though he finds his voice. “You can’t – you can’t just say shit like that.”

So that’s how it’s gonna be. Billy’s gonna try to tell him what to do. How to feel. Steve’ll be having none of that, thank you.

“I’m not gonna say I'm sorry because I'm fucking not.”

It comes out harsher than he intended, clipped and pissed off, but at least it doesn’t shake with the fear and hope and the million other things bubbling in his chest right now.

Billy scrubs a hand over his face. He looks so tired all of a sudden; not that Steve can blame him, all this emotional shit is exhausting. “I don’t mean – I’m not – I’m not _mad_. I just don’t know what you want from me.

And people say Steve’s an idiot. “I literally just told you.”

“You want me to go and you want me to stay.” Billy shrugs. “Kinda contradictory.”

Yeah, it is all kinds of contradictory. But then so is Billy.

“I want you to stay with me,” Steve tells him. “But I’m not gonna force you to. If you want to go, you should go.”

Billy’s face flashes with anger. “Stop being all self-sacrificing and shit. You can’t force me to do anything. You want me to stay, ask me to stay.”

“I’m not gonna ask you to do that.” Steve’s not, no matter how much he wants to. “You hate Hawkins.”

“Not all the time.”

Well that’s cryptic as shit. What the hell is Billy talking about? This is without a doubt the most confusing conversation Steve’s ever had, and he once had a chat with a Russian general while pumped full of giggly-good-time hallucinogens.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Billy digs his fingers into the corners of his eyes. “Jesus, you’re dumber than a box of rocks, aren’t you?” When he looks up, his face is bitter for a split-second before he plasters it over with something forcefully suggestive. “Just take your fucking pants off already.”

“No, we’re still talking –”

“We’ve talked,” Billy snaps and then he’s moving again, heading straight for Steve, “You’re just not listening. Now take. Your. Pants off.”

That’s about as subtle as a Demogorgon doing cabaret in the living room. Billy’s nothing if not good at distracting him.

Steve should really protest, should really stop this because he still has things to say – but Billy’s towering over him now, gaze heated. Steve can’t tell if he’s five seconds away from ripping his head off or railing him. If he shuts up, odds are it’ll be the latter and seeing as he’s managed to avoid any violence to his person for nearly a week now, it’s probably in his best interests to do that.

“Pants off, got it.”

The flash of Billy’s teeth is wicked. “Good boy.”

It’s kinda ridiculous how fast it gets Steve going, heat flooding through his body like Billy’s taken a blowtorch to all his nerve endings. He shoves his sweatpants down and off as Billy strips out of his clothes. Christ, Steve’ll never get tired of looking at him. He’s a little paler now but still muscled, still overwhelmingly hot. It’s hard to look at him straight on.

Billy pulls the Vaseline from somewhere – is he just walking around with it in his hoody or something? – and Steve’s reaching for it when Billy grabs his wrists. Pins them to the back of the couch.

“No, baby, you keep them there. You’re gonna watch.”

Watch? What – _oh_ , oh fuck, he understands what that means now that Billy’s sliding into his lap, Billy’s slicking up two fingers, Billy’s reaching back to open himself up for Steve.

Who gives a shit if this is a distraction? If Billy wants to put on a show, it’d be rude to not pay attention.

And god, Steve’s gonna pay attention to all of this. The steady movement of Billy’s arm. His dick, hard and wet against his stomach. The flush eating up his chest. His face, flushed, focused. The moment he finds the spot he’s looking for: his mouth goes slack, his dick spurts a little. Steve has to clench his fists tight not to press his thumb to Billy’s lip where his teeth are digging in. He must make a noise because Billy’s eyes open. Zero on him like lasers.

“Feels so good, baby,” he says, rocking back on his fingers. “Been waiting for this for so long. Been dreaming about it.” He hitches his hips, dick sliding wetly against Steve’s shirt. “You get me so hard. Can’t wait to get you inside me.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck. Is Billy expecting Steve to say something? Because he’s got nothing. A week ago this wasn’t even a thought that had ever crossed his mind and now he’s got Billy in his lap, working two fingers inside himself so that he can ride Steve’s dick like a pony. His brain’s forgotten that it ever knew what words are.

Billy keeps going until his dick’s leaking all over the place, until he’s fucking back on his fingers and Steve’s losing feeling in his own from how hard he’s grabbing the back of the couch. Eventually he pulls his fingers out, frowning a little, drops the condom onto Steve’s chest. It takes a second for Steve to make his hands do what he wants, which is a second too many apparently because Billy makes an impatient noise. Takes the condom back with a huff, opens it and puts it on Steve himself. Holds him steady as he positions himself above him.

Holy shit, this is happening. This is really happening. He, Steve Harrington, is about to have sex, actual _sex_ , with Billy. Billy fucking _Hargrove_. But –

“Billy, wait.” Steve’s not trying to delay this but surely that’s not enough? His dick’s a lot bigger than two fingers. “You’re not stretched enough.”

“I’m good.” Billy shoves the fingers of his other hand into Steve’s mouth when he tries to protest, which is unsurprisingly effective at shutting him up. “I wanna feel you.”

Shit, okay. Steve’s not gonna argue with that.

And then Billy’s steadying himself with his hands on Steve’s shoulders. Moaning low and guttural as he slides down-down-down. When his ass finally meets Steve’s hips, he stops. Pants. His eyelashes flutter, dark against his cheek. When he finally opens his eyes, Steve can see the huge pools of his pupils, ringed with a tiny circle of blue. Christ Al-fucking-mighty, he’s so hot, so _tight_ around Steve’s dick. Steve must be splitting him in two.

“God, baby,” Billy breathes. He flexes his thighs, lifts up, sinks down again so slow, oblivious to the fact that Steve’s brain is slowly leaking outta his ears. “Knew you’d feel good but Christ – Steve –”

His expression is so blissed out as he works his hips faster; Steve’s never seen anything like it. Couldn’t even have imagined it. Never, ever in his deepest, wildest dreams could he have come up with what it’s like to have Billy Hargrove spread open on his dick, vulnerable, expression cracking a little more with every slide of Steve’s dick inside him.

And suddenly Steve gets it. It’s not about distracting him. It’s about _trust_. Even if Steve has spectacularly fucked up today, Billy trusts him. Enough to let him do this. To let him see this.

Steve has to touch him, slide his hands along the ladders of Billy’s ribs, up his broad back to his shoulder blades, down to the swell of his ass, along to the place where they’re joined. Billy’s hips stutter at the touch, circle, grind down. Steve gasps for breath at the feeling, at the sight.

This is it. The end. Nothing’s supposed to feel this good. His brain’s gonna explode from it. He’s had a pretty good run; at least he can die happy.

He can feel Billy’s getting close, steadily tightening around Steve’s dick, tension ratcheting up his spine, and he gets his hands on Billy’s waist, yanks him down as he thrusts up, over and over, until Billy whimpers out a “ _Steve_ ,” the noise ripped from his throat and his spine arches in an impossible curve as he comes all over his hand and Steve’s chest. There’s no way Steve can hold on with Billy clenching around him and he grinds up once, twice, follows him right over the edge.

“Holy fuck, Harrington,” Billy groans, head falling forward onto his shoulder.

Yeah, holy fuck sounds about right. How is Billy even forming words right now? All Steve can do is circle his arms round Billy’s back and rub slow shapes up and down his spine as he comes down.

Outside the birds are singing, the wind is rustling through the trees. The sunlight slanting through the window is creeping towards them over the floor. Sooner or later they’re gonna have to clean up. Steve’s gonna have to get ready for his afternoon at Family Video and his evening at Tony’s. But his body’s mostly made of jello right now so that’s gonna have to wait a little longer.

And then Billy’s stomach rumbles like thunder. Steve smothers a laugh into his hair.

“Breakfast?”

Billy mumbles something against his shirt. Only lifts his head when Steve nudges him. He hasn’t even opened his eyes.

“Inna minute.”

“Okay.” Steve butts their heads together, kisses along Billy’s hairline. “Hey, you want me to bring you a pizza after work?” Billy nods slowly, curls tickling Steve’s chin, trying to crawl up his nose. “What toppings?”

“Anything but pineapple.”

Wow, does he really think Steve’s the kind of monster that puts pineapple on pizza? That’s so fucking insulting.

“How does pepperoni sound?” he asks.

“Wonderful,” Billy says, starting to smile, and Steve can’t help thinking that it kind of is.


	9. Chapter 9

For all that people like to shit on Steve for not being book smart and barely being able to contribute intelligently to a discussions and never coming up with totally ridiculous gonna-get-us-all-killed plans, sometimes his ideas are good. Sometimes they’re great. Sometimes they’re even brilliant.

Fuck the haters, Billy would say. Especially when those haters are named Dustin and Mike and Lucas.

Turns out, Murray was the right person to call. He couldn’t get them what they need, but he got them the number of his uncle’s mechanic’s best friend’s drug dealer’s brother’s whatever who apparently can. And now Steve’s sitting in his beamer in the parking lot behind a dive bar somewhere near Bloomington, Robin in the passenger seat, flicking judgementally through his cassette tapes.

“What the fuck are we doing?” Steve asks.

“It was your idea,” Robin answers. “Seriously, how much Prince does one person need?”

“It was your idea too.”

Robin throws an empty cassette case at him. “Relax. We’re doing a good thing. For Billy.”

Right. For Billy. No matter how many time Steve says it, it doesn’t make the fact that he’s voluntarily blowing his heart into tiny pieces any easier to swallow.

“You know,” Robin says as she digs out a worn-out copy of _Thriller_ and shoves it into the player, “If this works he’s gonna leave Hawkins.”

Jesus, sometimes it’s like she’s in his brain. Maybe he should check her for a tattoo like El’s.

“I know.”

The beat of _Wanna Be Startin’ Something’_ kicks in. “And how do you feel about that?” Robin asks.

He feels - well, he feels a lot of things but he's not gonna say any of those things out loud right now. 

Luckily a guy’s just appeared around the side of the dive bar, a real suspicious looking guy with a dark trench coat and a shifty walk.

“There he is,” Steve says.

Robin turns to look. Winces hard. “You’ve got this,” she says, which is a great thought but totally undermined by how sceptical she sounds. “Just think of Billy.”

Steve takes a deep breath. Prays to several gods he doesn’t usually believe in that this goes okay. Gets out the car. The guy stops short at the sight of him. Steve tries to walk over as confidently as he can. It’s gonna be fine. All he’s gotta do is give him the money and the guy will give him Billy’s new ID. Yeah, it’s gonna be fine. It’s gonna be great. It’s gonna be – oh _god_. Up close the guy looks like an _axe murderer_. He’s got a beard that hasn’t seen a comb in it’s entire life and what Steve can only describe as crazy eyes. He smells like he doesn’t know what a shower is. What the _hell_ , Murray?

This whole thing is a terrible idea. One of his worst. The cops are one thousand percent gonna find his and Robin’s bodies in a ditch tomorrow. How unfair that this is what’s gonna kill them, rather than literal monsters.

No, get it together dingus. Think of Billy. Yeah, think of Billy – he can do that. It’s all he does anyway.

“You Steve?” the guy asks. His voice sounds like what Steve imagines all serial killer’s voices sound like: low and gravelly and threatening.

“Yeah.” As if he’s gonna be anyone else.

The guy looks over at Steve’s car and Robin, who’s very intently absorbed in the map book she’s got spread out on the dash. He must decide she’s not a threat or an undercover cop or whatever because he turns back and sticks his hand out.

“Cash,” he demands.

Zero points for customer service. Keith would have a field day with this guy.

Steve doesn’t complain though – _think of Billy_ – just passes him the envelope with pretty much his life savings shoved into it. The guy fucking _counts it_ , which is kinda patronising if Steve’s being honest. Sure, he’s buying a fake identity but he’s not some kinda _criminal_.

“Wait here,” the guy says, like Steve can do anything else, and walks off.

Fuck. Did he just get robbed? That’s so fucking uncool.

In the car Robin’s head has snapped up and she does a hand-arm-face thing that Steve just knows means _what the hell did you do dingus?_ Steve waves her off. If the guy doesn’t come back – well, he’ll have to deal with it. Hunt him down. Maybe put his baseball bat and its nails to good use.

He’s halfway through composing the apology he’ll have to give Billy when he gets arrested for turning this thieving asshole into a pin cushion, when the guy comes back around the corner.

“Here.” He passes Steve a manilla envelope that’s way lighter than he thought it would be. “Birth certificate, social security card, driver’s licence, high school transcripts and passport.”

Huh. Maybe Murray did know what he was doing when he sent Steve to this guy.

“And they’re legit?” Steve asks. “They’ll hold up if someone looks through his records?"

The guy’s eyebrows jerk up. “You think I do shoddy work?” he growls.

Oh shit, that was such a dumb thing to ask. This is how Steve gets dismembered in a parking lot. 

“No, sir,” he mumbles. Maybe a bit of respect, however forced, will save him?

The guy cracks a grin. It doesn’t make him look any less murdery. “Relax, kid. You shouldn’t have any problems.”

No problems – _ha_ , that’ll be the day. Steve’s whole life is nothing but problems. Teenager and monster shaped problems.

“That’s great,” he says, trying to smile in a way that doesn’t make him seem totally terrified. “Thanks.”

“Anytime.” The guy holds his hand out for Steve to shake. “See you round, man.”

Yeah, hopefully not.

Once Steve’s done shaking his hand, the guy disappears back around the building. Steve doesn’t quite run for the car but it’s a close thing.

“You got them,” Robin says once he’s safely inside and the doors are locked.

“I got them.”

He stares at the innocent-looking envelope in his hands. This will give Billy everything he wants, everything he deserves. So why does it feel like he’s holding a bomb?

Robin stares at him, unblinking, and raises an eyebrow. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Steve lies, because that’s a can of worms he doesn’t have the brain space to open right now.

Robin gives him a look that says she knows exactly what he’s doing, but she doesn’t call him on it. Even lets him switch Michael Jackson to Prince. This is why she’s his best friend.

They drive back to Hawkins with _Purple Rain_ playing through the stereo. It’s his favourite album, usually puts him in a good mood, but right now it’s doing jack shit to stop him feeling like he’s gonna puke. He drops Robin off at her house as the sun starts to dip towards the horizon. Takes possession of another cheese-soaked disaster and a shit ton of weird-looking muffins that her mom forces into his hands. Drives as slow as possible to the cabin, like maybe if he takes a thousand years to get there Billy will have forgotten why he went in the first place. It's unlikely, but a boy can dream.

The cabin looms. Steve’s ready for Billy to be standing there with his bags packed, just waiting to snatch the envelope right out of his hands and drive off into the sunset without a backwards glance, but when he opens the door Billy’s nowhere to be seen. Steve drops his backpack on the couch, calls out a hello – nothing. The cabin is deathly silent. He checks each room – still nothing. Billy’s not in the kitchen or the bathroom or either of the bedrooms. He’s not here.

He’s not _here_.

Okay, don’t panic. Don’t panic. Maybe he went for a walk. Maybe he’s out with the kids. Maybe the government came for him. Maybe the Mind Flayer got him. Oh fuck, oh shit, where is he? That’s

There’s a noise out back, something moving around. Steve freezes. Listens carefully. It’s too big to be squirrels, but not as big as a spider monster. When he sidles to the window he can’t see anything but he can still hear the movement, something that sounds like leaves moving and – water, maybe?

Quietly, carefully Steve steps outside. Avoids the creaking boards on the porch. Creeps round the cabin. Whatever’s making a noise is right around the corner. Please don’t let it be a demodog. Fuck, please don’t let it be a demodog eating Billy’s ripped-apart corpse. Shit, he should get his radio. He should get his bat.

Except when he peers round the corner, it’s not a demodog eating Billy’s corpse. It’s not even a demodog. No, behind the cabin is a bathtub that looks like it’s been out here since the pioneers came through Indiana, full of water that’s steaming in the afternoon light. And in the bathtub is Billy, bathed in the orange glow of the sunset filtering through the trees, humming something gently under his breath, smoking a big fat joint like he doesn’t have a care in the world.

“You _asshole_ ,” Steve barks at him.

Billy jumps a mile in the air. Sloshes a shit ton of water over the edge of the tub and all over the ground.

“What the _fuck_ , Harrington?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Wow, his voice is high-pitched and terrified. So much for not panicking.

Steve drops to his knees in the mud by the tub and throws his arms around Billy’s neck. Doesn’t care that his jeans are getting dirty and Billy’s dripping water down his neck. Billy’s here. He’s fine. Thank fucking god.

“What’s wrong with you?” Billy asks. He sounds like he’s laughing, the dick.

Steve takes a shuddering breath. Tries to get his heartbeat under control. “I thought you were –”

Fuck, he can’t even say it, it hurts too much.

“Relax, man.” The hand with the joint touches Steve’s shoulder, his hair. The scent of weed fills Steve’s nose. “I’m right here. Not going anywhere.”

Not going anywhere _yet_. Not until Steve hands over the packet of documents stuffed into his backpack. Not until Billy sees his future unfolding before him. Then he will.

“Hey,” Billy says from above him, “Look at me.”

He doesn’t want to, everything he’s feeling is probably written all over his face, but Billy’s hand is sliding to his jaw, tilting him up until he can meet Billy’s eyes. There’s something on Billy’s face he doesn’t recognise. It looks concern, maybe – or if could just be the water dripping down his face. It’s hard to tell.

“You good?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Fine.” If he says it enough maybe he’ll magically become the living, breathing embodiment of the word. “I’m gonna –” He waves a hand vaguely at the cabin. “– make some food.”

Billy gives him a sceptical look. Yeah, Steve’s not gonna make food but he’s not exactly gonna say _have a panic attack somewhere you can’t see_.

He doesn’t have a panic attack but it’s close, sitting on the bathroom floor with his head on his knees forcing himself to breath properly until the black spots stop floating in front of his face – although that could just be dust, they haven’t cleaned the bathroom yet. When he can finally get up and stagger back to the kitchen, he makes himself some toast just to prove Billy wrong. Crunches through it on autopilot, barely tasting it. Pointedly ignores Billy when he comes in with just a towel wrapped around his waist, all that skin on display.

He's trying to puzzle out whether the squirrels outside are fighting or fucking when Billy says from somewhere behind him, “What’s Robin’s mom trying to poison us with this time?”

Steve turns. Nearly chokes on his own breath.

Billy’s thrown on a cream sweater, blue sweatpants tight enough they’re verging on pornographic; his hair’s all loose and perfect. He looks like he did the first time Steve ever saw him, in the high school parking lot: double-denim, too tight jeans, golden curls. If he’d known then what he knew now, he’d have done things differently. Told Billy the truth that night at the Byers’. Made a move on him that first week of summer. Been there to stop the Mind Flayer taking him. All that time they’ve wasted and now he’s gonna lose Billy all over again.

Billy presses himself up against Steve, nuzzles at him like a big cat. The smell of the joint is still clinging to his hair. Steve should move, should put his arms around Billy or kiss him or _something_ , this might be the last time he can ever do it, but he’s frozen. Totally paralysed. His soul is slowly withering.

When he doesn’t move, Billy leans back a bit. “Steve?” he says and, oh god, he sounds so small and confused. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Steve says with a smile that feels like shards of glass in his mouth but is definitely better than bursting into tears. “Hey, I have something for you.”

He goes to his backpack on the couch, digs out the manilla packet. Stomps down on his desire to just throw it into the wood burner and watch it go up in flames. He has to do this even if it does feel like someone is ripping his stomach apart from the insides.

“Here,” he says and shoves it into Billy’s hands.

Billy stares at the envelope like Steve's handed him a very unexpected gift: thrilled, excited, a little scared of what’s inside.

“This is it?”

“Yep.” That’s it, that’s Steve’s heartbreak wrapped in a brown paper envelope. “Your starter kit for a new life.”

He retreats back to the couch while Billy’s too busy opening the envelope to notice how his heart’s imploding. Christ, where’s Billy stashed the weed? A good hit on a joint would be chef’s kiss levels of perfection for his anxiety right now.

But Billy’s not too busy. Billy hasn’t even opened the envelope. He just sits down on the couch next to Steve, pins him with his baby blues.

“Thank you,” he says quietly. “You didn’t have to do this.”

There’s something in Steve’s throat. It’s either his heart or he’s just swallowed his tongue. 

“I wanted to.” Well, he didn’t _want to_ want to but you know. “Have you, uh. Decided where you’ll go?”

Billy shrugs. “I don’t know. Back to Cali. Or Florida. Would be nice to get some sun.”

Fuck, that’s so far away. Steve tries to remember how to breathe. Wonders if heartbreak is a legitimate cause of death.

Billy’s totally oblivious, just carrying on like Steve’s heart isn’t slowly crumbling inside his chest. “Or maybe a city. New York. Portland. I hear Chicago’s nice. You ever been?”

Chicago’s better than Florida, better than California. But it’s still a couple hundred miles too far for Steve not to feel gutted by the distance.

“Yeah, a couple of times.”

Billy nods thoughtfully, asks “What’s it like?” like Steve’s opinion is somehow going to sway his decision.

“Cold. Windy.” Billy snorts, grumbles _like this shithole isn’t_ under his breath. “Lots of sports teams. Good pizza. They dye the river green on St Patrick’s Day.”

The grin Billy flashes him is too bright for the pit in Steve’s stomach. “That’s fucking weird.”

It is fucking weird. There’re lots of fucking weird things about Chicago, but none of them involve monster possession or giant spider made of goo – or if they do, Billy will be able to stay far away from them. It could be somewhere safe for him, somewhere he can do all the things he wants to do, be all the things he wants to be. Fuck Steve, fuck his heartbreak; sure, it’ll hurt but Billy needs something good, something better than what Steve and Hawkins can give him.

“You wanna go to Chicago?” Steve asks slowly. This must be what jumping headfirst into a tiger’s cage feels like; any second Billy’s gonna rip his heart out with his teeth.

“Yeah, maybe.” Billy thumbs at Steve’s cheek and stares, like he’s checking for something in Steve’s face. It feels like a test, kinda, and Steve’s only ever failed those. “Think I’d need a tour guide though. Know anyone?”

The thought of someone else being there for him, someone who can hold his hand, kiss him, curl up with him at night – Steve swallows hard. Yep, those are Billy’s teeth, tearing through ligaments, through veins. At least he’ll have bled to death by the time this conversation is over; at least he won’t have to watch Billy leave.

“I’m sure you can find someone to show you round.”

Billy makes a sound that would be funny if it didn’t sound like he’s dying. “Jesus Christ, Harrington, do I really gotta spell it out for you?” He pins Steve with his eyes, swallows him up in those ocean-blues. “Steve. _Baby_. I’m asking _you_.”

Steve’s heart doesn’t stop. Doesn’t skip a beat. Doesn’t even stutter. But it does start racing like it’s trying to win the Indie 500.

“ _What_?”

Billy’s mouth is slowly curling into a smile. There’s something unexpected and unfamiliar in his eyes. Fondness. Affection. A little bit of love.

“You’re not gonna ask me to stay. Guess I’ve got to ask you to go.”

Is Steve dreaming? Did he actually fall down the steps to the basement and crack his head so bad he ended up in a coma? It’s the only explanation because this can’t actually be happening.

“You want me to go with you?”

“Box of rocks,” Billy mutters under his breath, “I swear to god.” Then, louder, “Yes, Harrington, I want you to go with me. You want me to say it again?”

“No, no, I got it.” Holy shit. _Holy shit_. This is really happening. Billy wants him to go with him. But – “Why?”

Billy shrugs. “Seems like you need out of this town as much as I do.” And wow, that’s not the big heartfelt confession Steve was hoping for, but Billy’s picking at his cuticles nervously like he’s working up to something so maybe all hope isn’t lost yet. Sure enough, Billy glances up at him through those thick, thick lashes. “Besides, I’ve got used to having you around. Would be real lonely without you. Who would I get to tell about going to college and having a career and falling in love?”

Steve’s never been what you call smart, but he can definitely read between the lines and these lines say Billy would miss him. Billy wants him be part of his life. Billy can’t let him go.

“ _Well_?” Billy nudges him hard. “You got an answer?”

Steve never thought he’d leave Hawkins, let alone Indiana. There’s been Harringtons here since the pioneers came through. The Midwest, its corn, its snow, its endless flat fields – it’s who he is. But that doesn’t have to be _all_ he is. Hawkins doesn’t have to be the prison he can never escape; it can just be the place he was born. He can have more than this. He can have Billy.

“Of course I’m fucking coming with you,” he says.

Billy actually has the nerve to look surprised. Did he really think Steve would say no?

“You don’t have to. Just ‘cause we’re doing this doesn’t mean –”

Steve kisses him to shut him up. Then he kisses him just because.

“I just got you back,” he says against Billy’s mouth. “You think I’m gonna let you go again?”

“You’re something else, Harrington,” Billy says but he’s grinning, leaning in to steal another kiss.

It goes downhill from there, Billy’s tongue in his mouth, his body on top of Steve’s. The two of them grinding against each other until Steve’s lost all sense of time and space. Until he’s floating, weightless, Billy’s hands the only thing tethering him to the couch. Until he’s so out of his mind he almost doesn’t hear Billy when he says, “I’m gonna fuck you now.”

There are a lot of things Steve could say to that. What he says is, “Okay.”

He must sound as wrecked as he feels because Billy’s eyes darken. Then he’s pulling back, dodging Steve’s demanding hands.

“Wait here,” he says.

No. _No_. They’re not fucking in the living _again_. If Hop’s ghost is actually still hanging around this cabin Steve owes him a thousand apologies and a new couch.

“What about the bed –”

“Nope.” Billy dives in for another kiss. “Gonna have you right here.”

Billy vanishes while Steve’s trying to get his brain back in gear, comes back with a condom and the Vaseline, naked as the day he was born. Steve scrabbles to catch up. Stands there naked and panting, frozen like a deer in the headlights as Billy stalks towards him. Watches the movements of his muscles, the bob of his dick against his stomach. God, he’s so fucking hot. How did Steve get so damn lucky?

Billy smiles as he reaches him. Taps his hip, pushes him towards the couch. “Hands and knees, baby.”

Steve scrabbles to obey. He feels a little vulnerable, put on display, even with Billy’s hands running over his hips, the backs of his thighs. Even with Billy’s mouth charting a path over his ass, biting down, sucking one point to make a bruise. Steve tenses, waiting for the press of Billy’s finger – and then Billy pulls his cheeks apart.

Holy _shit_. Billy’s – Billy’s fucking _licking_ him, lapping wet and warm at his asshole.

Steve’s whole body throbs. He makes a noise he’ll never, _ever_ admit to. Billy just laughs at him, right into his skin.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” He licks over Steve again, works his tongue against his hole – then pulls back, the motherfucker, when Steve stifles another desperate noise. “No, no, baby, don’t be like that. Wanna hear you.”

He dives in again, shoves his tongue inside and it’s somehow more and less and better and worse. Steve couldn’t keep back the noises even if he wanted to. He’s gonna come way too soon if Billy keeps doing that, can already feel it building, a current swimming in his blood that’s gonna drown him if he lets it.

“Billy,” he groans, dropping his head down onto the arm of the couch, “You gotta – I’m gonna –”

Billy pulls his mouth away. Says, “No, baby, not yet,” and then his fingers are there, slick and unyielding, two pushing right in, punching the breath out of Steve’s lungs.

It hurts a little, too-much-too-soon but it’s also not enough. He wants more, now, right fucking now, and even when Billy adds another finger, it’s good but it’s still not enough. It’s still not those sparks of pleasure he got last time. Billy’s probably avoiding it deliberately, the dick.

Steve takes a rough breath. Forces his hands to unclench from the cushions. “Come on,” he pants. “Don’t need any more. Please, Billy, I’m ready, _please_ , come on, just –”

Billy twists his fingers, wrings a whine right out of him. “You want it?”

“Please,” Steve says helplessly. There’s nothing in the world he wants more.

Billy presses a wet kiss to his tailbone, licks a final stripe down between his cheeks. “I got you, baby,” he says and his fingers are pulling out, the thick head of his dick pressing back in their place. “Breath for me, okay?”

Steve breathes. He breathes and breathes and the head pops in and – fuck, fuck, _fuck_ , he’s probably stopped breathing now because it hurts but it feels so good, too much in the best way, stretching him, filling him up in the best way. Billy keeps going, even though Steve’s frozen beneath him. Keeps going until he bottoms out, until he’s draped over Steve’s back, hips flush. 

And then he _stops_.

Steve shudders. Writhes a little, desperate and stretched so wide, so obscene. Tries to get some leverage to push back, to force him to move, but Billy’s got him pinned with his hands and his hips and his dick.

“Billy,” he tries, even though he knows pleading’s nothing but futile. “ _Billy_ , c’mon.”

The grin Billy presses to the top of his spine is wicked, all teeth. “You want something, baby?”

Oh he’s a fucker. A sneaky little fucker.

“Fuck you, Hargrove.”

He feels more than hears Billy’s laugh. “Nah, pretty boy,” he says, low and deep and so fucking hot, “Fuck _you_.”

And finally, fucking _finally_ , he’s moving. A slow, torturous in-out slide, grinding so deep that Steve headbutts the arm of the couch with every thrust. And every single one hits the right spot inside him, lights him up like he’s stuck a power line straight into his veins.

Billy drapes himself over his back to bite at his shoulder, his neck. God, how they must look, Billy fucking mounting him like a bitch in heat and Steve whining and writhing and just taking it. Just the thought of it and he’s right there, racing towards the edge, every spark in his body coalescing into a tidal wave – until Billy’s hand is suddenly tightening round the base of his dick and everything grinds to a halt.

“Don’t come,” Billy says against his ear. “Don’t you fucking dare.” 

“ _Billy_ ,” Steve whines. “Billy, please, I can’t – I need to –”

“Not yet,” Billy says into his ear, hands gentle as Steve shakes. “You’re doing so well, baby. Just a little more. You can do it.”

“I can’t,” Steve groans and then Billy shoves in again and he loses his train of thought for a second. How the fuck is he meant to think when he’s an inch away from the edge? “Billy – I wanna – oh shit – wanna see you. _Please_.” 

Billy pulls out immediately and fuck, that feels weird, he’s so _empty_ – but only for a second as Billy turns him onto his back, settles on his knees between his legs. He hitches Steve’s legs up. Slides his dick along the crack of Steve’s ass so that it catches on his rim. Slides in before Steve does something embarrassing like try to fuck down onto his dick. And that’s good, that’s _better_ , because now he can see the flush crawling across Billy’s chest, up his throat, the beads of sweat dotting his skin, all his muscles flexing and straining, his eyes – oh god, his _eyes_. His gaze is so hot Steve’s amazed it hasn’t set the cabin on fire yet.

A desperate sound escapes Steve’s mouth. Something pleased and possessive rumbles through Billy’s chest.

“You like that, baby?” he asks. Punctuates it with a thrust of his hips. Steve tries to stop his eyes rolling back into his head, he really does, but it’s so hard when Billy fills him up so right. Billy just grins down at him. “Yeah, you fucking love, don’t you?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve whines. It’s all he’s got left; his entire vocabulary’s been stripped away. “Yes, yes, _yes_.”

Billy leans forward and presses him smile into Steve’s throat. Rubs his nose along Steve’s collarbone. Licks a line to his chin. Bites down on the hinge of his jaw. Steve’s hand clenches tight in his hair. There’s no space between them now, just hot air, sweat slick on their skin; Steve’s lungs are burning, his blood boiling.

“Should see yourself, baby,” Billy says against his cheek. “Fucking beautiful. You were made to take my dick.”

Holy shit, the fucking _mouth_ on this guy. Every word makes Steve’s dick spurt a little more.

“Billy,” he gasps – and is that really his voice? That fractured, desperate thing? “Billy, _Billy_ –”

“That’s it.” Billy snaps his hips harder, faster, and oh Christ, he’s right, that _is_ it. “Come on, baby, come for me.”

Steve couldn’t stop it even if he tried. He comes so hard the room spins and he sees stars. And Billy doesn’t even stop, just keeps fucking him through it, even after Steve’s dick has stopped spurting and he’s dissolved into a sensitive, shuddering mess. It’s the right side of too much, makes his nerves jangle and his breath hitch. If Billy keeps it up – well, round two’s definitely not out of the question.

But Billy’s not gonna last either, not with how hard his fingers are digging into Steve’s hip, his shoulder. So Steve reaches up. Skims a hand down Billy’s back to his tailbone, dips a finger between his cheeks. Savours the shocked gasp that breaks out of him right before he comes.

He loses track of time a little, just lying there, panting into Billy’s mouth, sharing breath, sharing spit, Billy’s weight slowly pressing him down into the couch. He could stay like this forever. He doesn’t really need to be a functioning member of society, right?

Eventually Billy pulls back a bit. Sits up and stares down at him, eyes flicking over his face like he’s looking for something he’s not sure he’s gonna find.

“You good?” he asks softly.

Steve gives him a thumbs up. “So good.”

Billy’s mouth cracks into a grin. “Yeah, you are,” he says. Then, “Stay there, okay? I’m gonna pull out.”

Good one. Like Steve’s body is even connected to his brain right now. He couldn’t move if he wanted to.

He lies there stupidly while Billy pulls out and gets up. The room needs to stop spinning. Maybe it’ll help to close his eyes? Nope, there’s sparks behind his eyelids too. Jesus, maybe his brain is actually broken.

Billy’s feet pad softly over the floorboard back over to him. “Here,” his voice says. When Steve opens his eyes, he’s holding out a towel for Steve to take.

“Nuh-uh.”

Billy tuts, says “So lazy,” even as he wipes the come off Steve’s stomach. When he’s done, he sits down on the couch and beckons Steve closer. “C’mere, baby.”

 _Ha_. Nice try; all his muscles are liquefied.

“Can’t,” Steve says. His voice sounds like he’s been gargling gravel. “M’dead. You killed me.”

Billy snorts. “You’re such a little bitch,” he complains. But he still pushes and pulls Steve so that he’s cuddled up against his side. It shouldn’t be hot being manhandled like that but fuck, it really is.

“So,” Steve says when he’s draped over Billy, his face half-smashed somewhere near his collarbone. “Chicago.”

“Yeah.” Billy cups Steve’s jaw. Strokes his thumb along his cheek. It’s all Steve can do not to let his traitor eyelids flutter. “Figured you wouldn’t want to be too far away from the brats. You know, in case something happened.”

Of course Billy’s figured out that Steve spends a ridiculous amount of time worrying about what kind of disaster the kids will cause next. Of course he’s chosen somewhere close enough Steve can come back if they need him. Of course he’s thought this through; of course he’s thought about _Steve_.

How the hell did Steve manage to luck his way into this one? Was he a saint in a previous life?

“And I was thinking,” Billy says, “We could get an apartment. Just the two of us.”

 _Just the two of them._ That’s gotta be the best thing Steve’s heard in his entire life.

“You gonna let the kids visit?” he asks.

“ _No_ ,” Billy says immediately. Then, when Steve pokes his side, “Okay, Max can come. Maybe El. And Will.”

“What about Dustin?”

“Absolutely fucking not,” Billy snaps, but there’s a smile trying to curl the corner of his mouth. “He’s banned. Wheeler and Sinclair too.”

Steve pokes him again. “You’re a dick.”

Billy’s hand cards gently through his hair. “You love it.”

It hits Steve so hard his whole world shifts a little. Because holy shit, Billy’s right, he kinda does. His heart is so full, getting fuller by the minute. Sooner or later it’s gonna explode out of his chest and that’ll be a pain to clean up, but he doesn’t give a damn. This is really happening. He’s going to Chicago. _They’re_ going to Chicago.

Billy makes a questioning noise; when Steve looks up he’s frowning a little. God, he’s so fucking cute Steve doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“What are you smiling about?”

“Nothing.” _Everything_. “Just happy.”

The grin that blooms over Billy’s face is the most beautiful thing Steve’s ever seen. “You sap, Harrington,” he says.

Yeah, Steve is a sap. He’s a fucking sap and he’s maybe a little in love with the guy who beat him up in high school but who cares? Who gives a shit? Not him.

Apparently not Billy either.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go guys (more of an epilogue really) and then maybe a sequel?


	10. Chapter 10

_Two weeks later_

“Are you sure about this?” Dustin asks for the thousandth time.

Steve considers the prison sentence he’d get if he set Dustin’s hair on fire. Five years? Ten? Probably too long to really be worth it, even if it would get him to shut up.

“Yes, Dustin, I’m sure.”

“It’s just. You’re moving. To Chicago. With Billy.”

All things Steve’s knows. All things Steve’s very happy with. And yet here’s Dustin phrasing it like Steve’s been sentenced to a hundred years of hard labour in a Siberian gulag.

“Yes, Dustin. I know.”

Dustin huffs. “But. _Billy_. He’s kinda… _crazy_.”

Luckily Billy’s in the living room with Max and Robin and can’t hear Dustin actively insulting him.

“Dustin,” Steve says as calmly as he can as he shoves underwear into a duffel bag, “I like his crazy.”

Dustin pulls a face like he’s gonna puke, which – fair enough, that was all kinds of sappy. Steve’s a little nauseated by himself.

“Just. Are you sure you can handle him?”

“I’m sure.” Or he’s like, maybe eighty-five percent sure. Billy doesn’t come with an instruction manual but Steve’s graduated from feeling his way blindly through his moods to at least remembering to turn the light on so he can see some of their outlines. “It’s gonna be fine. I’m gonna be fine. _We’re_ gonna be fine.” 

“The more you say that,” Dustin says, “The less I believe you.”

Steve decides to be the bigger person and not strangle him.

It is actually gonna be fine. Great, even. Dustin needs to get over his feelings towards Billy. Yeah, he was a dick before, but it’s not like this is some long con he’s running. He didn’t come back from the dead to seduce Steve and convince him to move to Chicago just to kill him when he gets there.

“If you don’t believe me, you can come visit. See for yourself that it’s _fine_.”

Dustin huffs some more. Steve rolls his eyes. He knows Dustin’s more pissed he’s leaving than that he’s leaving with _Billy_. But at least it’s a reaction; all his parents did when he called them in wherever the fuck they are this week to tell them he’s leaving town was ask him to leave a note for the maid.

“Look,” he says, throwing the last of his socks into the duffel, “I’m only gonna be a few hours away. Anything happens, I can come back. And I’ll be back for Thanksgiving and Christmas and your birthday. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“I’ll notice,” Dustin grumbles, even though he looks embarrassed by it.

Steve gives up packing. Reels him in for a hug. Doesn’t call Dustin out when he sniffles a little into Steve’s shirt.

“M’gonna miss you, Henderson,” he tells the top of Dustin’s cap. “Don’t get into trouble while I’m gone, okay?”

“I’d never,” Dustin says, clearly aiming for scandalised but undermined by how watery it sounds.

“Hey, dingus,” Robin yells from the living room, “You done? Your boy’s getting antsy.”

“Yes, mom,” Steve calls back. Then, to Dustin, “C’mon, let’s get this over with. You know Max is gonna cry, right? She’s gonna need you to be strong for her.”

It’s a lie, they both know it. Max and Billy did their hug-cry-pretend-it-never-happened thing yesterday. But it gives Dustin a reason to pull back and wipe his eyes and straighten his spine.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. “Let’s do it.”

In the living room, Max and Robin are taping up a box labelled _books_. Billy’s sprawled on the couch looking – well, definitely not antsy. He looks real relaxed. Kinda smug, like he’s got out of doing any actual work. He grins when he catches Steve looking. Tosses his hair like a model in a commercial. Stretches lazily, sweatshirt riding up to reveal skin and muscle and Jesus, it’s a testament to Steve’s willpower that he hasn’t just jumped him already.

“See something you like, pretty boy?” Billy says, pitched low and interested. And Steve should really roll his eyes or tell him to stop or something but fuck, how is he supposed to think straight when Billy sounds like that?

“ _Gross_ ,” Max complains, right over Dustin’s gagging and Robin’s “Get a fucking room.”

Billy just grins at them. Licks his lips. “Oh, we’ve got a room,” he says, “And you bet we’re gonna use it.”

Christ on a fucking cracker. One day soon Steve’s head is just gonna explode from the sheer force of all his blood rushing south.

“Okay, _enough_ ,” he manages, and Jesus, it’s a good thing everyone in this room knows him and Billy are doing it because there’s no hiding how strained he sounds, “Let’s go already.”

There’s something sad in the air while they pack up the trunk of the beamer. When they’re done, Robin catches him in a hug so tight Steve’s ribs creak.

“Come back soon,” she says. “But not too soon. We need some time to actually miss you.”

Steve laughs into her hair. “You’re gonna miss me?”

“Did I say that? I don’t think I said that.” When she pulls back she’s smiling but her face is streaked with tears. “God, Steve, I can’t believe you’re going.”

Steve reminds himself Chicago’s only four hours away. Only a couple hundred miles. That’s nothing. And there’s always the phone, they can call each other and – oh, fuck, he’s really gonna miss her, the feeling like the world’s heaviest boulder in his stomach.

“I’ll see you soon,” he says. It comes out a little choked, but that’s better than sobbing like he wants to.

Robin squeezes him again, kisses his cheek for good measure before she steps back. “You better.”

Steve hugs Max next. Pretends he doesn’t see how shiny her eyes are. How she has to swallow a half dozen times before she can breathe properly.

“You’re gonna be fine,” he whispers in her ear. “You can call us anytime. And if anything happens –there’s always room for you in Chicago.”

Max’s shoulders hiccup. “Thanks,” she whispers back. “And you guys are too. You’ll be fine.”

Steve catches Billy’s eye over Max’s shoulder and he’s smiling right at them, small and quiet and so beautiful. Yeah, they will, no question about it.

He lets her go so that Billy can take his place. Turns to Dustin, who tries to do a weird handshake thing before Steve rolls his eyes and pulls him in. God, this kid. Steve’s gonna miss him. Like a hole in the head but also like a phantom limb.

“Be safe,” Dustin says when they pull away, scrubbing under his nose with his sleeve. “Don’t die. And, like, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

 _Ha_. Like that means anything – Steve’s seen the shit Dustin gets up to. He’s had to put out so many fires Dustin’s set he’s practically a card-carrying member of the fire department. But it’s the thought that counts, right?

“I won’t,” Steve says. Or he’ll try not to at least.

Next to him Billy breaks out of his endless hug with Max. Ruffles her hair so that she’s scowling instead of blinking back tears. Hugs Robin so quickly Steve almost misses it. Gives Dustin a truly patronising pat on the head.

“Wait,” Dustin says as Billy turns for the car. “If you ever hurt him –”

Oh god. Here they go.

“ _Dustin_ ,” Steve hisses.

Billy bares his teeth. “You’ll what, Henderson?”

Dustin stutters. His face glows like a tomato. It was a nice thought and all, but he clearly didn’t account for Billy turning on him. For all that he’s mellowed out since he came back from the dead, he still fundamentally an asshole.

“Yeah,” Billy says with a sneer, “That’s what I thought.”

Thankfully Steve manages to get himself and Billy into the car without anyone getting injured. But as he’s starting the engine, Robin knocks hard on his window. When he winds it down, she leans her elbows on the edge, sticks her head in. Fixes Billy with a dead-eyed stare that’d give sharks a run for their money.

“You might not be scared of Dustin,” she says, “But let’s make on thing clear. If you do hurt him, what the Mind Flayer did you to you will be peanut compared to what I’ll do.” She smiles, all teeth. “You got that?”

Billy blinks once, twice. Swallows hard. “Got it,” he says and Steve’s impressed how his voice barely wavers.

“I think we all got it,” he says. Puts a hand on Robin’s face and shoves her out the window. “Now get lost, we’ve got a long drive.”

By the time the window’s wound back up, Billy’s got over that flash of fear Steve knows he’s gonna deny until his dying day and is headfirst in the glovebox.

“How long’s it gonna take to get there?” he asks as he digs through Steve’s tapes. He makes a disgruntled noise at whatever he finds.

“Four hours. Give or take.”

Billy’s eyes flick from the tapes to Steve’s face and back again. He looks horrified. “What the hell, Harrington? I’m not listening to this shit for four hours.”

Steve rolls his eyes so hard it hurts. He just _knew_ Billy was gonna be a music snob, which is why – “Your tapes are in back.”

It’s so fucking cute the way Billy’s eyes light up. He turns. Roots around for a minute before he pulls the whole box of tapes into his lap. Motley Crue, Metallica, Iron Maiden, a bunch of shit Steve doesn’t really want to listen to but he’ll put up with if it keeps Billy looking like that.

“Thank god,” he breathes, pulling out a Scorpions tape. “How did you –”

Steve shrugs. “Max.”

Billy mutters something that might be _that little ginger bitch_ and then he’s ejecting Wham! way harder than is necessary and shoving the tape into the deck. Something that might be music blasts out the speakers, too loud, too many guitars, a drumbeat that makes Steve’s head vibrate. But Billy looks like he loves it. Slumps back into the seat, the tension leaking right out of him like air out of a balloon. Christ, he looks so good like that, all relaxed and sprawled out, legs spread, an invitation for Steve to climb right between them and get his tongue on Billy’s dick.

Billy grins at him, eyes burning hotter than the sun. Sometimes it’s like he can read Steve’s mind. Or maybe Steve just isn’t very subtle. 

“You ever had road head?” he asks.

Fuck, it’s like a punch to the stomach – Steve’s never gonna get that image out of his head. No, _no_ , he can’t get hard now. They’re still in front of the cabin; the kids haven’t even left yet.

“Uh. No.”

Billy leans a little closer. His hand lands on Steve’s thigh. Slides up way too high for how many eyes are on them right now.

“Never?”

“ _Jesus_ , Billy.” Steve tries to squirm away but all it does it make Billy’s hand slide even higher, thumb stroking over his inseam. “Dustin and Max are _right there_.”

“C’mon, baby,” Billy says, pitched so low it rumbles out of him. “Don’t you want them to see how easy you are for me?”

God-fucking-dammit. How is Steve meant to drive for four whole hours if Billy’s gonna do this?

“If you can keep it in your pants until we get to Plymouth,” he says, a little desperate, trying not to buck into the press and rub of Billy’s fingers, “I’ll buy you lunch – and I’ll blow you.”

Billy chokes out a laugh, but he does take his hand away. Small fucking miracles. “I’m gonna hold you to that, Harrington.”

Steve’s gonna hold himself to that too. It’s good to have things to look forward to.

He revs the engine. Waves like a lunatic as they pull away from the cabin. Pretends he doesn’t see Robin’s facepalm and Dustin’s scandalised look. Takes the backroads out of Hawkins until they’re out on the highway, cruising past endless flat fields under an endless blue sky.

Four hours of this is gonna be boring as hell – but it’s a small price to pay for what’s waiting for him at the other end. Billy’s face when he sees the skyline. The light from Lake Michigan reflecting in his ocean blues. A place of their own.

Chicago, here they come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Thanks for reading and sticking with me. There's a sequel on the way but idk when so don't hold me to anything.


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